


AFTERMATH - THREE

by T Roubles (DustyP)



Category: The A Team (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/T%20Roubles
Summary: THIRD PART OF FOUR CHAPTER STORYSEQUEL TO OUTRAGE
Relationships: Hannibal/Face
Kudos: 2





	AFTERMATH - THREE

AFTERMATH - CHAPTER - THREE 

Almost an hour later Smith, fresh from his hot shower, walked into the main room of the cabin rubbing at his hair with a towel.  
Accepting a cup of coffee from Murdock with a nod of thanks, he glanced over at his partner, who was lying on the couch, eyes closed, coffee mug balanced on his blue-shirted chest.   
The younger man looked better after a hot bath and change into some dry clothes, but it was obvious from the slight frown between his eyes that he still had a headache.  
The other Team members had also showered and dressed in fresh garments and were presently grouped before a crackling log fire, sipping cups of hot coffee. Even B.A., who'd forgone his usual glass of cold milk in favour of something hotter.  
“What we gonna do `bout those guys at the house?” asked Baracus, swallowing the last of his coffee.  
Smith rubbed his forehead. “There are too many to guard, and I don't feel like wasting any more time on them.”  
The sergeant grunted in agreement. “You want me to get rid of `em?”  
Murdock looked at his big friend in amazement; for a moment there, he'd thought that Baracus meant - really get rid of the gangsters.  
Smith nodded in agreement, “Suppose we'd better.”   
Glancing at his watch he was surprised to find that it was not yet dawn. Such a lot had happened in the last few hours, it seemed like another day.   
“We'll just go check ‘em out, if any of them need a doctor, we'll phone the cops and let them deal with the scumballs.” He raised a dark eyebrow, hearing a snort from his sergeant.  
“Too good for `em,” muttered Baracus.  
“Yeah. I know.” Smith sighed, then raised a slight grin. “But we're the good guys, remember. We can't hit even scum like that, when they're down.”  
Baracus snorted again. “That's a good way of gettin` downed ourselves,” he grumbled, but knew his commander was correct. That was the way they'd always operated and it was a bit late to change now. Then, glancing over at the prone figure of his friend on the couch, remembering all that had happened to the Lieutenant at the hands of Maddox, B.A. could think of a few exceptions where that rule wouldn't apply.  
Smith shrugged and walked over to the couch. Bending down he brushed a hand over his lover's dishevelled hair, “Tem? You awake?”  
Peck nodded slightly but didn't open his eyes, the pulsing ache in his head making him feel sick, not to mention the gallons of lake water he'd swallowed.  
“B.A. and I are going back to the house to clear up. We won't be long. I want you to stay here with Murdock, okay?”

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER FOUR  
T. ROUBLES (c)  
Peck wanted to argue and forced his eyes open, hoping that he would be able to see his Colonel clearly, but was disappointed. There was a lighter patch in a swirling cloud of grey, but nothing else: no bright blue eyes looking warmly down at him, no gleam of white teeth in a loving smile.  
He sighed, eyes closing again and murmured. “Okay, but be careful - both of you.”  
Hannibal patted his shoulder and gently kissed his forehead, before standing up.  
Turning he saw his two other men looking into the fire, giving them a moment of privacy.  
“Right,” he said briskly. “Murdock you stay here with Face while B.A. and I go and check on those mobsters.”  
Baracus got to his feet as Murdock nodded. “Take care you guys.”  
“Always do.” Smith grinned as B.A. snorted in disgust and the Murdock raised his eyes ceiling wards. Handing the pilot a radio, he hesitated, then added seriously. “Murdock, I hope it won't be necessary, but don't hesitate to shoot if anyone comes looking for you here.”  
Baracus, halfway to the door, paused and nodded his agreement as the flyer stared at his commander for a second, then bracing his shoulders, the dark-haired pilot said, “You can count on me, Colonel.”  
“Good man, Murdock,” Smith clapped the taller man on the shoulder.  
Then he and his sergeant were through the door and closing it behind them.

In the darkness behind the cabin, a shadowy figure watched as the van drove away. The man was almost invisible in his all-black clothes, even his hands were encased in black leather gloves.  
Tossing a chewed match stick onto the ground, he pulled down a ski mask which covered his features completely; only his eyes, hard, dark and without a shred of warmth to lighten their icy depths, could now be seen. He glanced at his watch and decided to give the van and its occupants another five minutes before moving in on his quarry.   
Grinning mirthlessly to himself, he reviewed the past few hours. Hiding in the attic space had not been a conscious decision, but when he'd seen the injured German and the ladder leading enticingly upward, he'd followed his first instinct and climbed it. He'd been disappointed at first when he realised that Peck had given him the slip, not just him, as judging from the ensuing sounds of battle, the blind man had caused more than enough uproar for one so handicapped.  
He'd stayed hidden while the Team had got the upper hand, the thought of helping his colleagues never entering his obsessed mind. Petersen had his own agenda and sharing the prize wasn't his first choice, or his second, for that matter.  
The `enforcer` had learned a long time ago the value of patience: he was good at waiting. He'd allowed Marcellino's hired gang to take the initiative, realising from past experience that Smith and his men were far too good to be outwitted by a bunch of amateurs playing at ‘gangsters’. Petersen didn't have a very high opinion of Marcellino or any of Maddox`s other ‘soldiers’. He felt more than equal to Maddox and had only stayed with the gang boss because it had suited him up until now. Let Maddox have the so-called glory of being leader of the pack, Petersen was content to be the lesser target, absolutely certain that he could step into Maddox's shoes without any trouble whatsoever when the time was right.  
Lately however, he'd become impatient with Maddox`s tempers and tantrums and couldn't really care less if the drug dealer went to prison, or something more permanent happened to him. He did, however, share one obsession with his leader and that was to capture the blond, fair skinned man and hold onto him this time.   
Petersen didn't know why this guy had taken such a deep hold of him, after all, he was just another one of the men who had fallen foul of the Maddox gang. Yet, he couldn't stop thinking about that slender, youthful body and the fine, handsome features. He just had to have the guy again - and keep him this time. He'd had many partners through the years, not always unwilling ones, but more and more, he'd found himself wondering about Peck. Who he was with, what he was doing and whether he remembered any of his enforced stay in Maddox's house of pleasure.  
Petersen's lips broke into a thin smile, well, once he got his hands on that satin-skinned body again, he'd make him remember all right. This time, there'd be no sharing, with Maddox or any of that other crowd, a bunch of yellow-gutted cowards. Once he'd fulfilled his orders of locating and bringing the fair lieutenant back to Maddox he could then attend to his own agenda, which didn't include sharing his bounty with anyone. If Maddox objected, well, who would miss a two-bit drug dealer already on his way to prison.  
Having determined his future course, Petersen started to make his quiet way down to the cabin.

Inside the lighted room, Face was still lying on the couch, trying to settle himself to get some sleep, but his throbbing headache, combined with the soreness in his chest and turbulent thoughts kept him from resting.  
Swinging his long legs to the floor, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to wipe the recent events from his mind.  
He heard a soft movement and tensed slightly before Murdock's familiar voice asked: “You okay Face? You want something?”  
Peck shook his head wearily. “No thanks, Murdock. Just can't seem to settle.”  
“It's all that solar energy we've been hearing about,” stated Murdock solemnly.  
“Huh?” Peck raised his head bewildered.  
“Sure. All those rays bouncing from the sunspots have to go somewhere, maybe they've decided to land around this cabin.”   
Murdock sounded quite serious, but Face knew his friend very well and could 'hear' the smile in the pilot's brown eyes.  
“Ah...yes, of course.” Face shook his head, despite his less than cheerful mood, he couldn't help but grin at the sheer absurdity of the conversation.  
“You don't believe me, do you Faceman?”  
“Well, not that I don't believe you Murdock,” Peck said mildly, “ah, it’s just that...nah, I don’t believe you.”  
Murdock sniffed indignantly. “Just you wait, Facial One, as soon as the rays have finished bouncing about here, they'll go and bounce somewhere else, then you'll wonder where all your energy and zest has gone.”  
Face leaned against the back of the couch. “What energy and zest?” he enquired tiredly. “Haven't had any of those in quite a while.”  
“We'll soon have you up and....” The pilot's voice tailed off as he saw his friend's blond head tilt sideways in a listening attitude.  
“What is it?” he whispered, all levity leaving his face.  
“Thought I hea...” Peck motioned for silence, then nodded, “There's someone moving about outside.” He jerked his head towards the rear wall. “Out back.”  
For a moment Murdock's heart froze, then as he saw the tired face looking blindly up at him, he carefully took Peck's arm, urging his friend to his feet.  
“Okay, Face. You're going to be a good boy and sit down behind this couch, while I go and take a look.” He never doubted for an instant that Peck had heard something, past experience had taught him otherwise. The lieutenant had extremely sensitive hearing.  
Peck grabbed at the hand holding his elbow. “No, Murdock. Don't go out there by yourself. Wait for the others, they'll be back soon.”  
The pilot hesitated, wanting to do just that, then sighed, knowing that even if he used the radio to alert the Colonel and BA , they couldn't get back in time if there was an enemy outside, and besides, the Colonel had left him in charge.  
“It's okay Face,” he soothed, sounding calmer than he felt. “I'm just gonna take a quick looksee, be right back.”  
“No,” objected Peck, resisting his friend's urging hand. “Please, don't go out there Murdock. What if, what if...it's Petersen?” There was a hint of panic in Peck's voice.  
The pilot felt the faint shudder of fear which ran through the slim body beside him and for a moment shared it. Then it was swept away by a wave of sheer anger that someone like that scum had hurt his friend so much in the past, that even now his name could inspire such dread.  
He put a long arm around the broad shoulders which were stiff with tension and tried for some reassurance, for them both.   
“I'm not gonna do anything silly, Face, but we've got to know who's out there. What if Hannibal and B.A. run into a trap?” He hated using that one, but it worked.   
Peck sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Okay, if you must,” his grip on Murdock's arm was almost painful. “Don't take any chances Murdock. Petersen is a psychopath. He won't hesitate to hurt you.”  
“I know.” The pilot's voice was cold and even. “I have a gun Facie, I'll use it if I have too, don't worry.”  
“You got a spare, Murdock?” Peck asked, “I'd feel better if I was armed.”  
Whilst well aware that Peck could handle any weapon even if he was blind, the pilot hesitated, not sure it was wise. Then seeing the way the smaller man squared his shoulders and the steadier note in his voice, he gave in.  
“Yes, okay. Here,” he pressed the butt of his own gun into his friend's hand, “the safety's on.” He watched as Peck's fingers checked the gun, then pulled him over to the long couch. “Now, promise me, you'll sit here and wait until I come back. Okay?”  
“Okay,” Peck's voice was subdued. He didn't want the pilot to go. Not only because he was worried that his friend might get hurt, but also he didn't want to be alone inside, with a prowler outside. He tried a smile. “I'll be good.”  
Murdock hugged him fiercely. “You always are kid,” he whispered affectionately, “at everything you do.” Then he yanked the light piece of furniture away from the wall and settled the younger man in the space behind it.   
“Be careful with that weapon, Facie...don't shoot me,” he said, as he patted the top of the blond head reassuringly and went to get a gun from the cabinet where some of their spare weapons brought in from the van were concealed.  
There was a muffled snort from behind him.  
“Don't tempt me - and don't be too long.”  
Not wanting to warn any intruder, Murdock didn't switch off the main light, but boldly opened the door and sauntered outside as if to take a breath of air. Closing the door carefully behind him, he leaned on the wooden rail of the veranda and stretched his arms. He stared into the night beyond the rail, letting his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. The back of his neck felt very exposed, and as soon as he could, the pilot moved off to one side of the veranda and stood in the shadows, waiting and watching, literally holding his breath to catch the slightest sound.  
Yes, there it was. A slight scuffling as an unwary foot disturbed the loose undergrowth.   
Murdock tensed and after ascertaining which side the sound had come from, soft-footed his way to the opposite corner of the chalet, meaning to circle round to the back and come up behind the intruder.  
He silently edged around the wooden structure, passing the darkened windows of the back bedrooms and had reached the rear of the chalet when a shadow loomed up a few yards in front of him. Murdock's night-sight was very acute and he froze, waiting for the man in front to move first.  
He was so intent on the figure in front of him, he failed to hear the faint sound as someone crept up behind him. Too late the pilot started to turn, but a hard blow to the side of his head knocked him dizzy. His last emotions, as darkness closed in on his brain, was anger and fear; anger at himself for being caught off-guard and fear - for the friend he'd left alone and unprotected inside the cabin. 

Peck sat behind the couch as he'd been told, fuming to himself at his own helplessness. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He and his friends were a team, used to being together, backing each other up, fighting together...this...this was so hard to bear. He hated being a burden to his lover and his friends, feeling that sooner or later they might grow weary of having to look after him, or worse, something happen to them because of his affliction. He would need to do something soon, something for himself, show them that he wasn't the helpless liability he, and maybe they - thought he was.  
He tensed as he caught a sound outside the cabin door, his fingers clenched around the butt of the gun, the cold metal giving him a slight feeling of security. Holding his breath he waited, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure that the intruder would hear it and know where he was hiding. Was it Petersen who'd come looking for him? That dark man who scared him so much. Would he come and take him away from the people who loved him, take him to the dark and lonely place he'd inhabited before, where no-one could reach him, where even Hannibal couldn't enter.  
Face shook his head violently, trying to shake those notions from his head.   
No, he wouldn't go down that path again. He wouldn't let the bastards who had used him so shamefully win. He would fight them - to the death this time if it became necessary. He smiled grimly to himself, his courage returning as he thought of how he would cheat Maddox and Petersen at the very finish, even without the gun he gripped so tightly, he would find a way.   
Then the smile faded as another more urgent thought came skipping into his pounding head. What if he did manage that one last defiant gesture? It would mean he'd never see Hannibal again. Never feel his lover's strong arms holding him, never hear the beloved voice tell him he was loved beyond life itself.   
He'd never hear Murdock laugh, or listen to the pilot talk to his invisible pets, miss all the crazy schemes when he scammed the captain out of the V.A., and hed miss his friend's company, love and support in everything he did.   
He'd also miss B.A. and the big sergeant's rare smile when he'd deflected a blow aimed at his slighter companion and the growl of anger, pretended or otherwise, when the others got on the jazz, and the gentler side of the tough soldier when he was comforting a child.  
NO! NO! That wasn't the solution. Face beat his empty fist against his thigh. That wouldn't be winning for him, or the Team. He'd have to square up to the drug baron and his gang, take whatever they did to him and not let it affect his relationship with his friends.  
They loved him, they'd help him through whatever happened, whatever it took, he would come back to Hannibal and his Team.  
The decision made, Peck felt a strange inner calm spread throughout his entire body. He would, naturally, do his best to avoid being taken by the enemy, but now that he'd thought of what might happen either way, he knew he'd try his best to survive.  
For long, slow moments the silence held, then Face felt a cold draught on the floor and knew the door had been opened.  
Feeling as though he would yell aloud just to relieve the stress of waiting in the dark, Peck bit his lip and strained his ears in order to hear what the intruder would do next.

The van was almost to the turnoff to the old house when B.A. glanced at his Colonel who'd been silent since they left the cabin. “What's up, Hannibal?” he asked.  
Smith shifted uncomfortably, chewing the end of his unlit cigar.  
“I don't know, B.A. I'm sure I'm missing something important,” he sighed and took out the cigar. “There's something been bothering me since we left that house.”  
Baracus scowled in concentration. “What? We rounded up all the thugs, the ones that didn't run.” He thought a moment longer. “You mean `cos there wus no sign of that guy Maddox?”  
Smith suddenly jerked upright. “That's it, B.A.”  
“That's what?”  
“I'm an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.” Smith turned to the driver. “Turn round B.A. Get back to the cabin, quick as you can.”  
The urgency in his commander's voice was enough for the sergeant to slow down and look for a place to turn.  
“What's the matter?”  
“What you said about Maddox and the guys we rounded up, there was one missing, B.A.”  
“Hannibal,” Baracus sounded exasperated. “What you talkin' about?”  
“The ladder up to the attic, someone went up there and didn't come back down. I should have remembered earlier, but the fight with that scum Benny, and then Face falling into the lake.” He hit his hand on the dashboard. “I should've remembered. I must be slipping.”  
“You ain't slippin` Colonel. You've had plenty to think about lately...don`t beat yourself over the head.” Baracus` tone was firm.  
There was a moment's silence then the sergeant asked. “Why we goin` back to the cabin, shouldn't we check the house first?” Then B.A. shook his head, correcting himself..” `course not, he'll be long gone.”  
“That's right, B.A. If my guess is correct, he'll not only have gone, but he'll have waited until we left the cabin. If it's Maddox, or Petersen, they'll want another try at getting Face.”  
Baracus nodded grimly, as he found a narrow space to turn the van. “Okay, Hannibal, we'll be there in a few minutes.”  
Smith braced himself as the van slew roughly around, no matter how little time it took, it might already be too late.

Peck sat quietly as the door opened and footsteps sounded on the wooden floor boards. He'd silently got his feet under him and was crouched ready to jump out, run if he got the chance, fight if he couldn't. He had a fair idea of where the furniture was in the cabin, but knew he would be lucky if he managed to get outside without tripping over anything.   
His heart sank as a voice whispered, “Check the bedroom, he's got to be in here somewhere.”  
Damn! thought Face, there's more than one of them. Unless they all went through to the back, that put paid to his plan of making a run for the door, or holding his gun on them till his friends arrived.  
Listening intently, Peck detected the sound of two separate pairs of feet and sat very still, waiting with as much patience as he could for the men`s next move.  
It wasn't too long in coming as a noise from outside caused the two intruders to swear and after a moment's pause, the sound of their quick moving footsteps told the listening Peck that they had retreated to one of the back rooms.   
Now what, thought Face, friend or foe?   
He waited, tension building inside him, until suddenly he knew that another person was in the room with him. He'd heard the barest whisper of sound, so slight he might have missed it, yet on a level without conscious thought, Peck knew that his enemy was within a few feet of him.  
The black-clothed man stood just inside the cabin door, his cold eyes flicking around the room. Taking in the apparently empty room, he moved to the short passageway which separated the bedrooms from the lounge and started along it, moving stealthily.   
As soon as he opened the first door, he was confronted by two men with guns pointed straight at him.  
“Ah, Hell. What're you doing here?” came Maddox's voice.  
“I might ask you the same question,” the dark man replied coldly. “I thought you were gonna leave it up to your new `boys`?” There was sarcasm aplenty in the harsh tones.  
“You've said it yourself Pete,” Maddox half-sneered. “Never send boys to do a man's job.”  
Petersen's eyebrow lifted in amusement. “That's what I said,” he murmured.  
Maddox frowned, he didn't like it when this man whom he'd thought he could use and discard, was amused.  
“Have you found Peck yet?” he asked more coolly than he felt.  
Petersen shook his head and the man standing next to Maddox shifted his weight, a growl of anger coming from his thin-lipped mouth.  
“Where is he?”  
Petersen shrugged. “In here, somewhere... he didn't leave with the others.”

Peck, who had heard most of this conversation was now halfway through the open door, feeling more confident when he was actually doing something rather than just sitting, waiting to be captured.  
He had no idea where Murdock was, hadn't considered how he would manage outside in unfamiliar territory, all he knew was that he wanted out of this cabin where his enemies had infiltrated.

Murdock surfaced through a cloud of pain to a throbbing headache and a feeling of cold wetness down his back. Rolling over on to his side, he realised that he was lying in a pile of wet leaves, his gun was missing and he'd lost his cap.  
Groaning, he sat up, hands going up to cradle his aching head, then his memory returning with a vengeance, he cried “Oh God! Face!”  
Scrambling onto his hands and knees he felt around on the damp earth, searching for his gun and found his cap instead. Swearing in his anxiety he yanked his favourite headgear on, then had to close his eyes as a feeling of acute dizziness swept over him as he connected with the large bump on the back of his head.  
Giving up on the search for his gun, the pilot stumbled to his feet and hand against the wall for support half-ran, half staggered around to the front of the cabin.  
He had just reached the corner when another figure exited through the cabin door, the gait was uncertain and the waning moonlight gleamed on blond hair.  
“Facie,” whispered Murdock thankfully and started towards his friend.  
Peck was concentrating on remembering the outside of the cabin and failed to hear the faint whisper, but he did hear the sound of someone coming towards him. Swinging round, he brought the gun up in line with the sound, intent on putting up the best fight he was capable of.  
“Face,” hissed the pilot, “it's me.”  
Peck relaxed a fraction, but the sudden movement had upset his concentration and as he dropped his hand, the gun knocked against the rustic wooden table and chair on the veranda.   
The slight scraping noise was thunderous in the silence of the night, alerting the men inside and they made a concerted rush for the front of the cabin. In their haste they collided with each other and there was a lot of swearing before they managed to unscramble themselves and get outside.  
Their quarry had gone. The veranda and visible ground were deserted, no sign of Peck or anyone else.  
“Spread out,” snapped Maddox. “Find him.”  
Petersen had already melted into the darkness and after a moment’s hesitation the big Swede ran to the left of the cabin and disappeared around the corner.  
That left Maddox, standing in the oblong of light coming from the cabin, hands on hips, his solid bulk a black shadow in the greyness of approaching daylight, his mind now a twisted whirlpool of emotions.  
He was a man trembling on the verge of insanity. His drug empire had collapsed, his men scattered, some in prison, some deserting the sinking ship of his leadership and he faced a long jail sentence - if they could catch him again.  
Maddox had no intention of showing up for his trial, he knew the evidence was overwhelming against him, it was only because he was still owed a few favours, that he’d managed to make bail.  
All this he blamed on the blond man who had infiltrated his gang, causing him to lose everything he’d ever owned and most of the loyalty and friends he’d had in the past.  
The gang boss still wanted the younger man, use his virile and youthful body to slake his increasing and desperate need for violent sex, but it had now gone further than that.   
The secret places where young people of both sexes were kept for the entertainment of himself and certain members of his circle, was a highly lucrative sideline for Maddox. There were many men who wanted to fulfill their secret fantasies and were willing to pay highly for the privilege of a no-questions asked policy; a variety of partners to choose from; adolescents or adults; willing or not, it made no difference to them. In Maddox’s sick world of drugs, power and sex, slavery was just another commodity.  
The idea of turning Peck’s extremely attractive body into a desirable asset for his houses of pleasure, was still high on Maddox’s agenda, but now, it wasn’t the only thing on his personal hit-list.  
He still wanted to see Peck’s nude form spread helplessly before him, to slake his lust and bury his rage and humiliation deep inside the younger man’s body. Although he would derive great pleasure from the  
sexual abuse, he also wanted revenge on the men who had physically torn apart his gang.   
Having watched Smith, Murdock and Baracus take out his men with such contemptible ease, had not only enraged Maddox, it had disturbed the blurred line of his sanity. It had always been unbalanced, as witness his depraved personal life style and the ferocity of his brutal treatment of Peck and anyone else who had dared to cross him.   
The few weeks he’d spent behind bars had only served to reinforce his rage and desire for revenge. He didn’t have much time for what he termed refinements, but he had no doubt he would be able to exact his revenge on the men responsible for his downfall in such a way, that men would shudder at his very name.

Two of the men he wanted so badly were very close at that precise moment - a matter of six feet away - under the boards of the veranda.  
When Peck’s gun had knocked against the rustic bench, the two friends had frozen in dismay which lasted a full second, then Murdock had launched himself forward. Grabbing Face around the waist he’d whirled them both around, dropped over the side rail and landed in the moist earth.   
Another quick scramble by the pilot, dragging his protesting burden with him had them both hidden under the close-fitting boards of the veranda, in a space just barely large enough to accommodate their bodies.  
Squashed together, Murdock’s arms still wrapped tightly around his friend’s slim form, their long legs tangled together, they lay in acute, but silent, discomfort and waited for Maddox to move.  
The drug boss wasn’t in any hurry, however, walking backwards and forwards across the veranda, tapping a cigarette impatiently on the back of his hand.  
Then Maddox lifted his head as a shout came from the rear of the cabin.  
“Hey Maddox, Maddox. There’s someone coming, I can see headlights from the road.”  
Maddox cursed and then, much to the hidden men's relief, he hurried away to meet with Svenson.  
“Must be Hannibal coming back,” whispered Murdock into Face’s ear which was jammed up against his mouth.  
“Thank goodness for that, I’m getting cramp in my neck,” Face whispered back, his voice muffled against the larger man’s shoulder.  
His tone was light, but he was trembling with reaction. Things had happened so fast since he’d heard Murdock, he was just now getting his breath back. He’d been whirled about, flung over rails and was now lying in muddy ground underneath Murdock’s body, half suffocated by the weight on his chest.  
Murdock felt light-headed with relief and felt laughter bubbling up inside him. “I’ve got cramp all over,” he murmured, “not very comfortable down here, is it, Facie?”  
A muffled snort came from somewhere under his chin. “You can say that again.” The slim body trapped beneath him wriggled slightly. “Can we move yet, you’re bloody heavy Murdock.”  
All levity suddenly left the pilot, he felt drained and very tired, his headache had returned, or maybe had never left and he didn’t want to move, uncomfortable though it was. He closed his eyes for a second.  
A sudden pain in his ribs brought his eyes open. “What?”  
“Murdock, are you okay? Why don’t you answer me?” Peck’s voice was edgy.  
“Sorry... didn’t hear you,” mumbled the pilot.  
“I asked if we could move,” came Peck’s voice. “Can’t hear anything, can you?”  
Murdock tried to concentrate, but the thumping in his head drowned out every other sound. “Don’t know... Face...”   
His body went slack as he lost consciousness and Peck gasped as the increased weight pushed him a little further into the mud.  
“Murdock, Murdock...” The pilot didn’t answer and Peck grew even more fearful. He managed to free one arm from its bent position and felt the pilot’s head, his fingers trailing across a cold cheek, then as he investigated further, he felt a stickiness he knew from experience meant blood, on the back of his friend’s head.  
“Oh no.” He tried to rouse Murdock, gently slapping what he could reach of his face. “Come on, pal. We’ve got to get up. You need medical attention and I can’t do anything pinned down like this. Come on Captain, move yourself.”  
The sheer volume of pleas and commands reached down into the pilot’s mind, he stirred slightly, then slumped down again.  
“Murdock, stay with me - come on pal, we have to get out from underneath these damn boards. Hannibal and B.A. will be here soon, then we can get you all nice and warm and comfortable.”  
There was no reply and Face paused. This wasn’t doing any good and he had to get out and find help.  
He tried lifting the pilot pushing up with his arms, but the space was too small and the constricting body moved just an inch before being stopped.  
Panting, the Lieutenant paused again. Dare he risk shouting for help? If Hannibal was nearby they would be safe enough, if he wasn’t...  
Face shuddered, he didn’t like thinking of that.  
He had to have help though, fast; he couldn’t tell how badly Murdock was hurt and every minute might count.  
Trying again, he reached out with his arms, trying to discover from which side his friend had rolled them, maybe he could squeeze out and get help.  
Open space greeted one questing hand and he gave a sigh of relief, feeling at once less claustrophobic, even though he couldn’t see the close-fitting boards, he had felt them.  
Trying not to kick or hurt his friend, Face squirmed, pushed and wriggled, managing to slide his upper body out from underneath the pilot’s dead weight.   
Pausing a moment to catch his breath, he untangled his lower limbs from Murdock’s then rolled out from underneath the veranda and came up against another pair of legs.  
Shock froze the Lieutenant for a split second, then his fast reflexes taking over, he instinctively threw himself to one side, hand reaching for his gun. He came up empty, as he’d dropped the weapon when Murdock had dived on him.  
His worst fears were realised when he heard a throaty chuckle and felt a hard hand clutch at his shoulder. “Fancy meeting you here, you’re full of surprises.”  
Petersen's voice was full of dark amusement and Peck felt despair welling up to choke him. Oh God, no...  
He tried shrugging off the hand, but the steely fingers bit deeper into his damp sweater, holding him fast.  
“Petersen. Why the hell don’t you just go away and leave me alone.” Face was glad to hear that there wasn’t the slightest trace of a quaver in his voice.  
It was a strange feeling, but with the despair came a quiet sort of resignation and Face felt the fear recede far enough to enable him to think normally.  
“Leave you alone?” Petersen sounded more amused. “Can’t do that sweet-cheeks, you and I have unfinished business to attend to.”  
Peck’s voice was hard. “No. We don’t,” he snapped. “Get this through that thick skull of yours. I don’t want you near me, have never wanted you near me.”  
The fingers on his shoulder tightened and he was pulled up against the gangster’s chest. “How can you say that,” the hateful voice purred into his ear, “after all that happened between us? I’m very fond of you, we were good together.”  
Peck’s lip curled in disgust. “You mean when you raped me and tortured me with your damn cigarettes. Kept me in that damn hellhole like a caged animal?” He gave a short laugh. “No Petersen. If that’s your idea of fondness, you’re even sicker than I thought.”  
Petersen backed up a step, staring into the handsome face which was set in stone at the moment, the green-blue eyes staring blindly at him. This wasn't the response he'd been expecting. He'd thought that given time to think and worry about what might happen to him, his victim would be afraid and easier to control. Peck didn't sound at all scared and Petersen's admiration - and lust - rose anther notch  
“I’m sorry about the burns,” Petersen actually did sound regretful. “I was doped up and drunk, or I wouldn’t have hurt you at all. Not like the others.”   
He paused, then went on. “I’m not sick Joey, nor insane, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” He stopped again, eyes studying the way the fair hair fell over the smaller man’s broad brow. Lifting his free hand he ran it through the tousled mane, taking a delight in the silken texture.  
“I am mad about you, though,” he continued, disregarding the tension in the figure he held in front of him.   
“I am not Joey,” snapped Peck, trying to pull away. The feel of those fingers in his hair made his flesh creep.  
“Oh I know that,” said Petersen. “I always think of you as Joey, that’s the name you were using when I first saw you.”  
Peck didn’t get a chance to reply as Petersen abruptly stepped back. “We’ll have to talk later, right now, we need to move.”  
Peck’s heart raced. Hannibal... Hannibal coming?   
“What for? Aren’t you going to wait for your Boss and friend Svenson,” sneered Face.  
“Nope.” Petersen loosened his grip on his captive’s shoulder and grabbing his right arm twisted it behind him in an arm lock. Pushing the blond forward, he answered. “They can find their own playmates from now on.”  
Peck tried to stall, stumbling even more than he would have done, making heavy weather of walking. “Hey, steady on. I can’t see where I’m going y’know. What’s the rush anyway?”  
“I think you know very well, kid.” Petersen’s voice had returned to his menacing tone. “We don’t want to run into your friends, now do we?”  
“Yes, we do.” Face snapped back, not liking the way this man’s moods could veer so quickly.  
“No, I don’t think you would like them shot, would you?” Petersen said matter-of-factly.  
Face faltered. “You wouldn’t do that,” he answered, “you’d wake up the whole neighbourhood - and bring your boss here too.”  
“I’ll risk that,” his captor said, pushing him on again.  
Peck’s heart sank, believing that this bastard would shoot his friends, without a moment’s hesitation.   
Undecided whether to risk a shout for help, his mind was made up for him when a noise from behind made Petersen pause and jerk him to a halt.  
It was Maddox. “Petersen, can you hear me? Where are you? Have you found Peck yet?”  
Petersen smiled grimly and hurriedly shoved his prisoner on another step.   
“Not going to answer your favourite boss?” queried Peck sweetly.  
“Nope.”  
“You know, you’re beginning to sound like Gary Cooper,” Face said, between gritted teeth as the pressure on his arm increased. “though not nearly as good looking.”  
“Really? I like to watch those old movies,” was the unfazed response, totally ignoring the insult.  
Face grimaced then gasped as he tripped on a wooden plank. Feeling himself start to go down, he tried to put out his hands to break the fall and was yanked back onto his feet by the rough hand on his arm.   
Taken by surprise, Face couldn’t help the moan of pain as all his weight transferred to his twisted arm, then bit his lip determined not to show any distress in front of this hated man.  
He was surprised therefore when Petersen muttered, “Sorry,” but there was no relaxation of the tight grip holding him prisoner.  
They had gone only a short distance, with Petersen throwing increasingly wary looks behind him, when the sound of a fight came from the direction of the cabin.  
Maddox's voice could be heard screaming obscenities and the bark of a gun added to the commotion.   
Peck took his chance. “Hannibal,” he yelled, twisting in Petersen's grasp. “Over here.”  
His voice was cut off as a savage blow to the side of his head crumpled him into a heap of slack limbs. He was dimly aware of being lifted up, then darkness descended.  
Petersen swore as his captive tried to struggle free and lashed out with his gun-filled hand, striking the side of the fair head. In a moment, he’d lifted the limp figure and tossing him over one shoulder, made a run for the track where Maddox’s car was parked. He’d seen it on his way up to the cabin and delayed his approach until he’d scouted the area, which was why his boss and Svenson had got into the cabin ahead of him.  
This vehicle was a lot closer than his own, which was hidden deep in the trees and would serve his purpose better at the moment, especially since he’d taken the precaution of checking that the doors were open and the keys were in the glove compartment where Svenson invariably left them.   
Panting in exertion he finally came in sight of the car, just as running footsteps sounded on the gravel behind him.  
Turning, Petersen fired two shots in that general direction and stumbled towards his escape vehicle.  
Opening the rear door, he dumped his unconscious burden onto the seat and slammed the door. Jumping into the driving seat, he quickly started the car, just as a tall man with silver hair burst out of the bushes at the side of the track just behind the car.  
Petersen gunned the engine and the wheels spun in the muddy ground, enabling the tall man to almost reach the car, then the tyres got a grip and the car shot forward, bouncing over the deep ruts.  
In the driving mirror, Petersen saw the gun coming up in the man’s hand, but he didn’t hear the shot or hear any bullets hitting the car and grinned in triumph as the pursuing figure dwindled into the distance.  
He’d won. They’d never find them now. He had his own hideout, one Maddox didn’t know about, and he had the slim blond all to himself, wouldn’t have to share him with anyone else.   
As he drove into the lightening sky of dawn, Petersen felt very satisfied with the outcome of the night’s activities.

B.A. Baracus, crashed through the bushes onto the track just in time to see the lights of the car disappearing around the first bend.  
His leader was standing in the middle of the track, arms hanging loosely by his sides, staring after the vehicle which was carrying his whole world away.  
Baracus touched his shoulder gently. “Hannibal, you okay?”   
He knew it was an idiotic thing to say, the Colonel would never be okay until they got Face back.  
Smith didn’t reply, he appeared to be stunned by the calamity which had befallen them. Inwardly, his heart was numb, he didn’t dare think of what might happen to his beloved Lieutenant before he could get him away from the monster who had, after everything they had endured, still seemed to have won the day.  
Not for long though, Petersen, Smith thought savagely. You touch Tem, hurt him one little bit, and you are dog meat...  
At Baracas’ touch, the older man shook himself back to awareness. “What? Oh yeah, B.A.”  
“What’d you want to do now, Colonel?” asked the sergeant, falling back on army discipline.  
“How’s Murdock?” asked Smith as he turned towards his sergeant, absently stuffing the long-barrelled gun into his belt.  
“He’ll live. Nasty crack on the head though, scrambled his brains a bit.” Grinning sourly he added, “Not that we’ll be able to tell.”  
The ghost of a grin touched Smith’s lips at his sergeant’s little joke.   
“Come on, let’s get back. We’ve got some plans to make.”   
Baracus looked as puzzled as he felt. Smith seemed to be taking this far too calmly.   
As Smith led the way back to the cabin and their slowly recovering pilot, he reviewed the recent events which had led them to this point in time.  
They’d pulled up in the van just as Maddox and Svenson had stumbled to the front of the cabin, the gang boss yelling for Petersen.  
Maddox had fired at the Team members as they’d ran up to the veranda, then stumbled to one side as Svenson jumped on B.A. knocking them both to the ground.  
Smith had taken a shot at Maddox, who’d then backed off and ran down to the small jetty, jumping into the dinghy already in the water, having no desire to trade bullets with his nemesis.  
Smith let him go, anxious to know what had happened to his lover and his friend.  
He’d found Murdock’s leg sticking out from under the veranda and pulled him gently into the open air. Checking his pilot quickly, Hannibal had found the bloody lump on the back of the dark hair, just as a familiar voice had shouted his name.  
“Face!” Jumping to his feet, Hannibal had started towards the sound, but had been halted by the two big men fighting to overpower the other.  
Smith had grabbed a handful of the Swede’s shirt, pulled him back then hit him hard on the back of the neck, dropping him like a pole-axed ox.  
“See to Murdock,” he yelled to his hard-breathing sergeant. “The other one’s got Face.”  
He’d chased after the dimly seen quarry, recognising the limp form being carried over the running man’s shoulder.  
“Tem, oh Tem...” The Colonel put on a spurt, but a hidden ditch tripped him and he rolled down an incline for a few yards before being able to halt his plunge and resume the chase. He was limping badly, the fall having twisted his foot, but he plowed on with only one thought, he must reach his partner and rid them both of this nightmare for good.  
He’d been so close, almost touching the car as Petersen had gunned the engine, then had to watch, his laden heart almost bursting with stress as his lover was taken away from him.

When they arrived back at the cabin, no-one was surprised to find that Svenson had gone.   
Smith checked on Murdock, finding the pilot almost recovered physically, but very low in spirit when he realised his best friend was missing.  
He tried to apologize to Hannibal and B.A. telling them what had happened and how he’d tried to shield and hide his friend.  
“I’m so sorry, Hannibal, you left me in charge and I blew it.” The pilot hit one fist into the other, hiding his face, he couldn’t bear to see the disapproval - the despair - he knew would be in his leader’s blue eyes.   
B.A. put a hand on his shoulder, trying for once to ease the other man’s pain. “Don’t worry Murdock, we’ll git Face back. The Colonel will think of something,” he said helplessly. He threw a glance at his commander, wondering if that were true.  
Smith looked weary. He was unshaven, his clothes and hair disheveled by his fall, he kept rubbing his right ankle, which was beginning to swell up, and his features seemed to be chiseled from stone. His blue eyes, however, although full of a pain he couldn’t quite conceal, hadn’t lost their sparkle of life - not yet, he still had an ace up his sleeve.  
He limped across the room and sat down beside Murdock on the couch. Taking a crumpled cigar from his shirt pocket, he lit it and took a few deep puffs before saying:  
“That’s right, B.A. We’re not finished yet. Now listen up guys, we don’t have a lot of time.”  
As he talked, the grim, strained looks on the faces of his two remaining Team members gradually lightened, a grin from Murdock and a growl of approval from B.A. heralded their understanding.  
“Hannibal, that’s sneaky.” Murdock leaped to his feet, then flinched and put a hand to his aching head. “Ouch.”   
Baracus slapped his commander so hard on the back that Hannibal almost choked on his cigar smoke. “That’s nice, Colonel.”

A mile away down the lake, a bedraggled figure jumped ashore, splashing into shallow water as the dinghy floated away.  
“Shit!” Maddox wasn’t very good on water, he’d only the barest idea of how to use the oars and it was sheer luck that the boat had grounded at a place where he could step back on to dry land. The only thing in his favour at the moment, was the fact that he'd put a lot of distance between himself and those guys, who had come back far too quickly.  
He briefly wondered what had happened to Svenson, who seemed to be the only one left from his original elite troops, then dismissed the Swede from his mind. The man would know where to find his boss if he managed to escape from the Team.  
The thought of again being bested by the three men made Maddox squirm inwardly with impotent rage. He never seemed to have any luck where this A-Team were concerned. He wondered why they kept thwarting him at every turn.  
Maddox shook his head, they must be crazy. It wasn’t as though he’d done anything to them personally, yet they still came after him. All because he’d had a bit of fun with the handsome blond. It was beyond his comprehension that other men would go to such lengths to protect someone if they weren’t being paid for it. He paid for protection himself, but no-one he hired was better than these men, except perhaps for Petersen, but that dark-natured man was a law unto himself. The gang boss hated to admit it, but he was a little afraid of the cold-eyed killer.  
He dragged himself along the lake-shore and back onto the road, which almost circled the lake, hoping to pick up some transport.  
He was lucky that there weren't many places where a car could be parked, and after a long walk, he found Petersen’s abandoned vehicle. He'd just got into the car when Svenson came crashing through the bushes and rejoined his boss.

Face slowly drifted to the surface of consciousness, a drumming sound in his ears. Without opening his eyes, he tried to lift his head then stopped as pain shot through his temples. Stifling a moan, he lifted a hand to the side of his head, fingers encountering the stickiness of blood.  
Damn! he thought, not again.  
Lying still for a moment, he tried to get his bearings. He seemed to be in a car, the rhythmic drumming noise reminded him of driving over a bridge. He couldn’t place being in a car, the last thing he remembered was being pushed onward by Petersen; shouts, the sound of fighting and then a deeper darkness as something had struck him on the head.  
If this was a movie he thought moodily, all this getting knocked about the head would’ve brought my sight back. Seeing that it wasn’t a film however, he would just have to make the best of things. Bracing himself against the back of a leather seat, he opened his eyes a crack and even though he was expecting it, was still disappointed when only the now familiar greyness filled his vision. Sick and disorientated, he slumped back, trying to concentrate on his breathing and getting the pain in his head under control.   
The vehicle twisted and turned a lot and Face was beginning to feel nauseous by the time he felt it slow down to a crawl, then after a few more moments stopped.  
Letting his body relax again, he decided to feign unconsciousness for the time being, hoping to get a break later.   
He needn’t have bothered as the rear door of the car was dragged open and a voice cried jovially: “Rise and shine, Joey.”  
Peck lay still, waiting.  
Then hands were on him, pulling at his legs to straighten them out, then at his shoulders sitting him upright.  
“Come on Joey, I know you’re awake. Stand up like a good kid and come and see the place I’ve got set up.” There was a pause then the same hard voice said abruptly. “Sorry, forgot.”  
To say that Face was surprised was an understatement, he was astonished. That this man, who had caused him so much grief, even knew the word for regret was cause for some wonder.  
Petersen's hands pulled him from the car and held his elbows until he caught his balance. Peck’s head reeled at the sudden change in position and he put a hand to his brow, saying testily. “Give me a minute, I’m dizzy.”  
He was leaning against the open door of the car by then and through the renewed pounding in his head, he heard sounds of feet on a bare concrete floor, then Petersen’s hands helping him upright again.  
“We’re in the garage of my place,” the mobster’s voice said calmly. “Just three steps to the doorway.”  
Peck felt himself moving without being conscious of putting his feet forward, Petersen was taking most of his weight.  
The slighter man felt the hard edge of some steps and was hefted over them and in a second was standing on a carpeted floor.  
“This way, then you can sit down for a minute,” the hard voice continued.  
“Where is this place?” asked Peck innocently.  
Petersen laughed aloud. “Oh, you never stop trying, do you kid? That's for me to know and you to find out - maybe.”  
Face shrugged as though it didn't matter. He was trying to keep calm, this change in attitude of his captor was very unsettling, he didn't trust it to last for long.  
How on earth were Hannibal and the Team going to find him, he only hoped he could outwit the dark man until they came.

His friends were at that very moment, following the bleeping red light of a device planted on the back of Petersen’s vehicle by Hannibal as he’d chased after the departing villain. Realising he couldn’t reach his lover in time to rescue him, Smith had fired the homing device at the back of the car as it sped away and had been lucky enough to aim straight, considering that he’d been way out of breath at the time. What made him grab that particular pistol from the van's armaments he didn't know, he just thanked God for his instincts, which had served him well for many years. These inner feelings had often been the only thing that had saved his Team on many occasions and was something that could never be taught; you either had them, or not, and Hannibal had been blessed with more than his fair share.  
Now, having informed Murdock and B.A. of his plans, they had armed themselves with a variety of weapons and climbed into the van in pursuit.  
They had spotted a lone figure climbing up towards the road, squelching in his wet shoes and for a moment had been tempted to stop and pick up Maddox. Their chief concern, however, was their missing comrade, so they`d continued on their way. The gangster would keep, they had more important business to accomplish.

Petersen guided his blind captive up and down bare steps and carpeted stairs; it was like a maze, thought Face and seemed like being in a traffic jam, as he was halted again and again, then urged onward for what seemed an age.  
At long last Petersen said cheerfully, “Here we are,” and Peck was ushered through yet another doorway, his hands brushing against the sides as he entered.  
“I wish you could see this place, Joey,” Petersen said with, for him, was enthusiasm. “I had it done special after the beach house was raided.”  
“How nice.” Face wasn't interested, but thought he'd better say something, anything, to keep this man talking, instead of hurting him.  
“Yes. You won't know, of course, but I'm quite the amateur photographer, and I've set up some areas for different scenarios.”  
Face's stomach muscles tightened involuntary. He didn't like the sound of that - not at all, even though he didn't understand why. He didn't speak as the other man guided him further into the room he couldn't see and sat him down in a chair.   
Petersen smiled as he looked around, he was going to enjoy himself here. He noticed the tension in the younger man's body and leaned down over him, one hand caressing the side of the handsome face.   
Feeling Peck flinch, he said, “Oh don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, Joey.”  
Face gave a nervous laugh. “No? Can I have that in writing?”  
Petersen gave a gruff laugh, “Of course, but as you can't see, it wouldn't be much use to you for evidence would it?”  
He studied the man sitting so tensely in front of him, admiring the tilt of the chin, the shape of the mouth, the wide eyes that stared straight in front, the only evidence of their blindness.  
“Y'know Joey, I've fancied you from the first time I saw you, even before the beach-house.”  
Face braced himself mentally, determined not to give this sadist the slightest sign of his inner terror.  
The hand continued to smooth his cheek and neck. “I didn't like those other guys hurting you the way they did.”  
Face snorted contemptuously. “Oh yeah? I suppose you were just an innocent bystander,” he gritted.  
“No, not really. But I couldn’t show my hand then, I had to join in or they would’ve suspected,” Petersen announced quite seriously.  
Face's jaw almost dropped. “Huh? Suspected what?” Then berated himself for joining in this weird conversation.  
“Suspected that I wanted you for myself. I never wanted to share you the way that Maddox did. I hate him for what he did to you. He thinks he should always get the best guys, the ones I wanted, the best-looking, the best in bed.”  
Face's blood ran even colder as the voice went on ranting about Maddox's preferences and the way he could easily take what he wanted because he had the backing of his Mafia cronies, while Petersen had to take what was left.  
Petersen was deranged, Peck was now convinced of that fact. He sensed the madness beneath the hitman's cold exterior, an insanity that must've been growing for some time.  
Oh God, please let Hannibal find me soon, he pleaded inwardly.  
“So you see Joey, I found this place and made it just the way I like it. I'm going to have some private fun here and want you to join in.”  
The blond head shook an involuntary negative and the hand on his neck tightened.  
“Oh yes, I think you will.” Petersen threatened, then his tone changed, becoming less menacing. “It will be different I promise you. There'll only be you and me - and the camera, of course. I'd rather not hurt you, Joey, but I want to fuck you and I'm going to have my way. Maybe not immediately, but soon as I attend to some other arrangements.”  
Peck gasped in relief as the hand slid away from his throat and he could breathe again without restriction.  
“Look, how many times do I have to tell you that my name is not Joey. You have me mixed up with someone else.” Peck tried to reason with the madman.  
“I don't care what your name is,” laughed Petersen. “I've always thought of you as Joey, my Joey, the one I want for my lover.”  
“No,” yelled Face, running an exasperated hand through his hair.   
He forced himself to speak calmly. “To have a lover the other guy has to be willing. Your way is physical assault and rape, can't you understand that?”  
Petersen shrugged and patted the angry young man's blond head. “We'll see. I'm sure you'll change your mind when you realise the benefits.”  
He turned away from the chair and went to the door. “I have to attend to some things. The door will be locked and there are no windows, so don't hurt yourself trying to get out, because you can't.”  
Face heard the lock click and pounded his fist on the arm of the chair in frustration. “This is crazy. He actually believes he can make me love him. Oh Boy!”  
Drawing a deep breath, he tried to relax and remember his training. He could get through this. Just calm down and think. 

As Petersen moved through his hideaway, he closed and locked every door behind him. Even if his captive managed to get out of the room, there was no way he could escape from the house by touch alone, Peck was safely caged until he got back.  
A mirthless smile crossed Petersen's cold features, he knew that Peck would try to escape, but that was okay. He liked a little spirit in his conquests, and the fiesty blond would make a satisfactory partner, once he'd been made to toe the line and recognise who was master.  
Now all he had to do was make sure there were no loose ends to trip him up. He'd decided that Maddox was going to have to go back to prison, he knew all his former boss` contacts and was sure he'd be able to take over the drug-running operation. If he could also get rid of those damn friends of Peck's, he would have a clear path.  
In his madness, Petersen didn't consider the odds against achieving all this, he just knew it was what he wanted, nothing else mattered.  
His first move was to inform the cops where Maddox was: he ginned wolfishly. That would be a first for him, helping the cops. “You had your chance Maddox,” he mused to himself as he entered his den.

Maddox was, at the moment, swearing vengeance on his erstwhile colleague. Having found Petersen's unlocked car, he'd told Svenson to drive round and pick up their own vehicle. Upon finding it missing, he at first suspected that Smith had taken it as extra transport. Then he hesitated, something had been bothering him for some time, something that didn't ring true.  
Knowledge came slowly, then Maddox cursed fiercely as he realised that Peterson had had his own agenda all along. Remembering now, all too clearly, the amount of interest that the dark man had shown in Peck whilst he'd been a captive at the beach-house and his later willingness to track down Peck’s whereabouts; the gang boss had no doubt that Petersen had the blond in his hands right now.   
Maddox`s desire for revenge made him forget for the moment his fear of the man who'd been his lieutenant and hit-man, he was now determined to get rid of Petersen once and for all.   
Rummaging through the glove compartment and inside the door pockets of Petersen’s car, Svenson made an interesting discovery.  
“Hey Mr. Maddox, wonder what this is for?”   
Maddox paused in trying to squeeze more lake water out of his clothes and examined the tiny object, recognising it immediately as one of the many electronic tracking devices used by his own gang.  
“I don’t know Svenson, but I can guess.” Maddox smiled evily. “Looks like planting a bug in all my cars is gonna pay off." He settled into the passenger seat. "Let's get going.”   
Svenson got behind the wheel, “Where to, Boss?”  
“We’ll just follow this little bleeper, see where it takes us.” He cursed as he wriggled uncomfortably in his wet pants. “I think that bastard Petersen has just made one mistake too many.”

Petersen was happy, although no-one would’ve been able to tell, his dark-featured face was expressionless as usual.   
He replaced the telephone receiver, his lips twisted in a grin of victory. That call to the L.A. cops would settle Maddox's hash, now he had time to play with the blond.

The said blond was slowly examining the room in which he’d been locked. He had to find out for himself if there was a way out, he wouldn't take Petersen’s word that the sun set in the west.  
He wasn’t having any luck. After a few false starts and bruised legs from walking into furniture and other fittings, he managed to find the door and started to feel his way around the walls, counting his steps as he did so. He persevered, managing to navigate the different articles of furniture without losing his sense of direction, until he’d completed a full circle back to the door. His heart sank even further, there were definitely no windows at ground level, and no other exit apart from the one door.  
His hand on the smooth knob, Face gave a start of surprise as he felt it turn and the door began to move inwards. Taking a step back, intent on keeping out of the way, Peck realised he had a slight advantage as he was behind the opening door.  
Balancing on his toes, he waited tensely and as the opening widened and he felt the air stir as a person stepped inside, Face stepped sideways and praying he had calculated accurately, thrust out both hands catching the man in the middle of the shoulder-blades.  
He heard Petersen curse in surprise as he stumbled forwards under the impetus of the push, then feeling for the edge of the door, Face swung his body around it and almost jumped into the corridor beyond, hanging onto the knob.  
He pulled the door shut, then one hand against the wall, stumbled away down the passageway.  
He had no idea where he was, or in which direction he was going, but he would try anything to stall Petersen and that sadist's plans for him, having faith that given enough time, Hannibal and the others would find him.  
He reached a cross passageway and hesitated a second, then set off down the right-hand one. He'd only gone a couple of yards, when he felt a rush of movement behind him and a rough hand grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him to a stop.  
Trying not to cry out at the pain of his hair being pulled out by the roots, Peck turned and struck out at his tormentor, still determined to go down fighting and a fierce struggle took place. It could only last a few minutes, as the smaller man was at a great disadvantage, but it took Petersen a few furious minutes to subdue the frantic struggles of the deceptively slight young man. Both were panting harshly by the time Petersen had managed to get an arm-lock on his escaping prisoner and held him immobile, half bent forward, his hair hanging in a disheveled gold tangle around his flushed face.   
“Now...” panted Petersen, “keep still, or I’ll break both your arms.”   
“You’re doing that now,” panted Peck painfully. “Let go, you big ox.”   
“Then be still,” said the larger man, not releasing his savage grip.   
Peck subsided as the strain in his upper arms and shoulders threatened to make him black out. He was then force-marched back the way he’d come and pushed once more through a doorway. Propelled across a carpeted floor, Face was forced to sit down into what felt like a large chair and the savage, bruising grip was released.  
Bringing his cramped arms round to his front, he rubbed them trying to get some feeling back through the strained muscles.  
“You don’t listen, do you, Joey?” Petersen snarled, massaging his midriff where one of Peck's punches had connected with some force.  
“I AM NOT JOEY,” yelled Face, fed-up with the other man’s fantasy.  
“Whatever,” declared Petersen. “You belong to me now and I don’t like it when you try and run out on me.”  
Face leaned forward, hands on the arms of the chair, glaring towards the sound of that hated voice.  
“Look, you sad excuse for a man. I do not belong to you, or anyone else. I’m a free man and I choose who I want to stay with.” He paused, then added pointedly, “and it’s certainly not you.”  
“Ah, Joey, don’t be like that. I know we’ve had our differences, but you know you want to stay with me. Who else will protect you from Maddox and those house-parties of his, huh?” He leaned down and touched his captive’s flushed cheek, caressing its smooth texture with hard fingers.  
Peck jerked his head back, a sudden sickness in his stomach at the underlying threat in the other man’s words. Yet he persisted in his defiance, he couldn’t let this low-life see how scared he was at even the thought of being thrown to those particular wolves again.  
“I can take care of myself,” he snapped back.  
“Ah, but you’re handicapped now, aren’t you?” said Petersen, “you need someone to look after you, see to your every need.”  
He pressed closer to the seated man, letting Peck feel his burgeoning erection against his upper arm.  
Face flinched, pulling his arm away from the side of the chair, distaste in every line of his slim form.  
“Keep away from me, you bastard,” he grated through clenched teeth.  
“Oh, I can’t do that, honey-lips,” Petersen purred, “you’re much, much, too delectable a morsel.” He leaned down, one hand clenched in Peck’s long hair holding his head still and tried to kiss him.  
Face squirmed, pushing out blindly with his arms trying to force the other man away from him, almost gagging at the touch of the other’s thrusting tongue.  
His resistance seemed to inflame his captor even more and he was forced back and down into the large chair, Petersen half lying on top of him, one hand fumbling at Peck's clothes the other yanking at his hair.  
Face's horror grew as Petersen pulled at the zipper of his jeans and he cried out. “No...NO.”  
His shout was muffled immediately by Petersen’s mouth, the tongue ruthlessly plundering the softness of his captive’s lips.  
Realising that he was losing this particular fight made Face more desperate than ever and with an almost superhuman effort, he pushed the heavier man to one side and managed to slid out from underneath the restricting bulk.   
Caught by surprise and much to Face’s immediate relief, Petersen was forced to loosen his grip on both hair and clothes.  
Cursing, Petersen turned to catch at Peck’s shoulder, pulling him backward to land on his rear beside the chair.  
Instinctively, Peck’s clenched fist flew up and back, catching his tormentor on the cheekbone hard enough to bring tears to the older man’s eyes.   
Unfortunately, it didn’t stop Petersen completely. It did infuriate him though.  
With a furious curse, the hitman swung his clenched fist and caught Peck behind the ear, felling the younger man to the carpeted floor, where he lay still.  
Breathing hard and rubbing his stinging cheek, Petersen glared at the figure face down on the floor, studying the unconscious figure intently.  
Peck’s long legs were sprawled apart, his rounded, jean-clad rear raised slightly, his eyes closed; the sooty fringe of lashes brushing his flushed cheeks. In an instant, Petersen felt his anger change to a fierce stir of lust, at the vision of beauty lying in front of him.  
Approaching cautiously, he deliberately kicked Face’s nearest thigh, but there was no movement at all.  
Still a trifle wary of his captive’s passiveness, remembering how fiercely Peck had fought on their previous encounter, he bent down and lifted the limp form into his arms.  
Still nothing, the blond was well and truly out for the count.   
“Maybe I shouldn’t have hit you so hard,” the dark man muttered, “but you do have a way of making a man lose his temper.”  
Shaking his head, Petersen moved across the room and deposited his unconscious burden on a large bed, which was hidden behind a partition.  
Depositing the limp body on the satin cover, Petersen leaned over and caught up a leather wrist cuff and snapped it around Peck’s right wrist, the other end was bolted to the wall.  
“That’ll keep you for a while,” he muttered and patted the nearest shoulder before walking to the door. “I just need to check the security cameras,” he threw a lascivious grin over his shoulder at the bed, “and the videos. Then you’re gonna get my full attention.”

Outside the house, Maddox and Svenson had pulled into the shrubbery at the side and were carefully inspecting the layout of the building and grounds. It was now after dawn and they could see that there wasn’t a sign of habitation, all the windows were shuttered, yet Maddox knew without any doubt that his erstwhile deputy was inside.  
“No sign of anybody,” said Svenson softly.  
“No,” agreed Maddox, “but I know that bastard is in there.” He was silent for a moment. “Don’t know why, but this place seems familiar to me.”  
Svenson looked at him. “Familiar? I don’t remember this place at all. Is it one of ours?”  
Maddox shrugged, brow furrowed. “Keep watch, Sven, I wanna think.”  
The straw-haired man obediently watched the house, his eyes flickering swiftly from building to shrubbery as he left his boss alone with his thoughts.  
Suddenly Maddox sat upright, swearing aloud, making his henchman jump. “I’ve got the son-of-a-bitch now.”  
“What?”  
“This place, Svenson. It is one of ours, or rather it was, a few years back.”  
Seeing the blank look on the other man’s face, Maddox took time to explain. “This place belonged to a guy called Darnell, one of our ex-clients. He ran his business from here. Something similar to the beach-house. We used to supply him with some of the girls - and the dope of course.”  
He laughed harshly. “He was doing okay too, till he got a bit too greedy and tried to double-cross one of the Family - that was a big mistake. The Mob don’t like to share their profits.”  
Svenson shook his head. “Must’ve been crazy. What happened?”  
Maddox shrugged heavily. “I think he’s part of the foundations of that Highrise on the hill. Anyway, the house wasn’t used for quite some time, but I remember it was fixed up inside with different rooms for different tastes.” He tapped the steering wheel. “I reckon that Petersen has brought our blond friend here for some entertainment, thinking that no-one knows about this place, except him.”  
“Why’s that, Mr. Maddox?”  
“Petersen was working this end of the deal for me. It was when we took over the western side of the city, before you joined us. I left this operation entirely to him. I had bigger fish to fry at the time.”  
Opening the car door, he started to get out.  
Svenson stopped him. “Mr. Maddox, knowing Petersen, he’ll have alarms and cameras all over the place,” he warned.  
Maddox laughed again. “That’s the beauty of it, Sven. I know how the systems work. Even if he’s changed the codes, I still know how to get in.”  
He got out of the car, pulling at his still damp clothes. “Come on, Sven. Let’s give our old friend a surprise.”

Despite their close scrutiny of the house and grounds, the two drug pushers failed to notice the black van parked in the deep shadow of some trees, on the opposite side of the building. The Team had arrived several minutes earlier and had already made a quick recce of the surrounding terrain.   
Realising that it wouldn’t be easy to gain entrance without making a whole lot of noise, B.A. was in the process of trying to see if he could neutralise the alarms, with Smith and Murdock keeping watch.   
Suddenly the Colonel hissed a warning and the three soldiers faded back into the shadows as the sound of a car engine heralded Maddox’s arrival.  
Signalling B.A. and Murdock to follow, Smith shadowed the two gangsters as they moved to the back of the house and watched as Maddox bent over a grating set a few yards from the blank brick wall of the building.  
With the big Swede’s help, after much panting and muttering of profanity, the two men managed to raise the heavy metal grille and set it aside.  
Taking a moment to recover his breath, Maddox watched as Svenson shone a torch into the darkness. The faint light revealed a metal ladder, rusty and obviously unused for a long time.  
Maddox laughed shrilly. “You see, Sven, told you I knew a back way in.”  
“Where does it lead?”  
“If I remember rightly, it runs under the foundations into a cellar. Darnell used to keep his bottles of wine there.” Maddox sneered. “Thought he was a cut above the rest of us.” Straightening up, he patted his henchman on the back. “Okay Sven, down you go, I’ll be right behind you.”  
The Swede didn’t look too happy with this arrangement, but started to climb into the dark opening.   
In the shadows, Murdock made as though to move forward, but the Colonel’s hand on his arm stopped him. “We’ll let them show us the way in,” breathed Hannibal.  
The pilot nodded and remained still.  
Minutes later, as the bulky figure of Maddox disappeared into the grating, the three soldiers of fortune crept up to the opening and peered down.  
They could hear the noises of two big men trying to walk softly over uneven ground, which sounded like a herd of elephants to the veterans of jungle warfare.  
“Wouldn’t have lasted long in ‘Nam would they?” whispered B.A. in disgust.  
“Nope,” murmured Smith, “wouldn’t have got past basic training.”  
“Somehow, I don’t see Maddox volunteering,” added Murdock thoughtfully.  
“Me neither, Captain, me neither,” said Smith. “Well, I guess they’re far enough ahead. Let’s move it, guys.”  
So saying, he lowered himself into the black hole, his feet swiftly finding the rungs of the old ladder and he disappeared from view within a few moments.  
Striking a theatrical pose, Murdock bowed, ushering the Sergeant to go first. Baracus growled at him and helped the pilot into the hole by the back of his jacket collar. “Fool!”  
A few minutes later they joined Smith who was standing at the bottom of the ladder in a small alcove. The Colonel was flicking a shaded torch on and off in an attempt to see where they were.  
It appeared to be a large sewer and from what they could see in the dim light, it was complete with resident rodents.  
“Ugh!” Murdock gave a snort of disgust.  
“Shush!” Smith said, as he looked cautiously around the corner.  
He could see a faint flicker of moving light, which presumably marked the position of Maddox and Svenson. The two mobsters were still walking along the concrete tunnel.  
Switching off his own torch, Smith started to follow the faint light, his two men following on his heels.

A couple of stories above the underground tunnel, Face was slowly regaining consciousness. His head ached and he felt sick and disorientated. Where was he?  
Then memory came flooding back and he bit back a groan of despair, not knowing if Petersen was within hearing. After listening for a moment or two, he felt fairly confident that he was alone.  
He tried sitting up, but the throbbing in his head, soon persuaded him to stay still, at least until the demonic blacksmith in his head stopped pounding the anvil.  
Tentatively he moved his limbs and found that although his legs seemed free, his right wrist was shackled somewhere behind him.  
When he was able, he sat up slowly and with his free hand started to examine his immediate surroundings. It was obvious he was on a bed, or couch and the other end of the shackle was bolted into the wall.   
“Damn!” Face muttered, realising that without his lock-picks, it was going to be difficult to get out of his bonds.  
When there was no response to his muttered curse, he felt fairly confident that he was alone in the room, so he rolled to his right and slid off the bed. Kneeling on the floor, he started to examine every link in the chain, his nimble fingers hoping to find a weakness.  
He was disappointed, though not surprised, to find that the chain was solidly locked into a place on the wall, and without his lock-picks, he had no chance of freeing himself. Swearing silently to himself, he sat down on the edge of the bed to think, until a faint noise at the door warned him of someone entering the room.   
Face immediately swung his legs back onto the bed and lay still, pretending to be unconscious.  
Footsteps, muffled by the carpet, crossed the floor towards him and he slowed his breathing as much as possible, hoping that the person would go away again. He assumed it was Petersen, as he hadn’t heard anyone else in the house so far.  
A hand touched his cheek, then ran down to his mouth, fingers tracing the outline of his lips.   
It took a lot of control for Peck to remain quiescent, as the hand moved further down to his chest and started to unbutton his shirt.  
Oh Lord, help me, thought Face; he fought to conceal his utter disgust as the hand moved over his bared chest, but couldn’t avoid a faint gasp of pain as the hard fingers rubbing at his tender nipples, nipped them viciously.  
“Ah, so you are awake, are you?” Petersen’s hated voice said, “thought you might be by now.” He laughed. “You’re very good though, Joey...couldn’t tell just by looking.”  
“Get away from me,” Peck said in a tight voice.  
“Why? I like looking and touching you, your skin is so soft and smooth.” Petersen’s hand moved further down and Face couldn’t stand it any longer.  
He bolted upright and grasped the other man’s forearm with his free hand. “Don’t touch me,” he gritted between his teeth. “You disgust me.”  
There was silence for a split second, then Petersen laughed harshly. “I do, do I? That’s a shame, because you and me are gonna get a lot closer, more intimate shall we say.”  
With that, he twisted his arm free and grabbed Peck’s left wrist throwing him back onto the bed, then reached up to shackle it in the same way as his right hand.   
Face struggled to prevent him, but the drug-runner was too strong and he ended up flat on his back, his arms stretched wide apart and pulled up and behind him.  
“There, that’s much better,” Petersen said in satisfaction as he gazed down at his victim.  
The younger man’s face was flushed with rage, his sightless eyes blazing upwards at the ceiling, his muscles tense.  
The sight was too much for Petersen. “Oh, Joey boy, you are indeed a beautiful sight,” the gunman groaned, running his hands over the slim figure, “can’t wait to get you outta those clothes.”  
He proceeded to undress the struggling body and despite Face’s frantic attempts to prevent it, he was soon stripped of jeans, socks and shoes. The shirt proved to be a slight problem with both hands tied, but Petersen solved that by merely ripping it in two and discarded the torn bits by the side of the bed.  
Face was left clad only in his underwear.   
Petersen gazed down at the sprawled body, his captive’s gleaming, sun-kissed skin, glowing in the artificial light, his long legs parted in the struggle to divest him of his clothes. Peck’s skimpy briefs only adding to his sexual allure as they clung to the outline of hips and groin.  
Petersen slid onto the bed beside his prisoner, leaning over him to run possessive hands across his chest and down his sides. When his searching hands reached the waistband of Peck’s pants, his hooked his thumbs underneath it and slowly pulled the material downwards, leaving the younger man naked.  
Petersen’s eyes gleamed lustfully as the generous shape of his prisoner’s genitals were revealed, and he gave a grunt of sheer animal lust as he reached out to caress their nude beauty.  
“NO!” yelled Face in sheer panic as he felt the other man’s exploring hands between his thighs. It seemed worse, not being able to see what was happening. He kicked out viciously hoping to connect painfully with some part of his attacker’s anatomy and seemed to be successful as Petersen grunted, half in pain, half in annoyance.  
“That wasn’t nice, Joey,” he snarled. “Gonna have to tie you down real good.”  
With that, he grabbed Peck’s ankles and one by one forced them into another pair of leather lined manacles, so that Face was spread-eagled on the rumpled bed.  
Peck’s breath was coming in harsh gasps as he fought to keep from yelling aloud in sheer horror. Knowing he was helpless - just like before - brought back everything he’d tried so hard to forget.  
He couldn’t stop the violent shivers that shook his helpless body and he clenched his manacled hands into tight fists, as a thin sheen of sweat popped out of every pore.  
Petersen stood looking down at his captive for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He had a feeling that he was going to spend so much time forcing Peck to co-operate he was going to get little or no, enjoyment from his planned seduction.   
Then a thought occurred to him, it was so obvious.  
“Why didn’t I think of that sooner?” he muttered to himself, as he crossed the room and opened a small cabinet.  
Taking out a small box, he returned to the bedside and sat on the edge.  
“Here we are, Joey. This will soon calm your nerves.”  
He took out a hypodermic syringe and a small bottle filled with clear liquid and proceeded to prepare a solution, then continued his one-sided conversation. “Don’t know why I didn’t use it before, except of course, I didn’t have access to any at the beach house, and anyway, there were far too many other guys involved. Would’ve been a waste.”  
He leaned over the sprawled body and wiped a patch on the nearest tanned thigh, then plunged the needle into the firm flesh.  
Face jumped and cried out, “What was that? What’re you doing?”  
“There, there,” soothed Petersen, wiping the needle mark again. “You’ll soon feel better.”  
“What’d you mean?” asked Face fearfully.   
“I mean,” said Petersen, leaning over him so that Face could feel his breath on the skin of his chest. “This is something Maddox had his tame chemist working on. It relaxes the muscles and mind so much, that whoever takes it, doesn’t feel a thing.” He laughed harshly. “Pretty clever huh? My late boss liked to use it on someone he fancied that didn’t fancy him,” he paused, “or rather on someone he fancied that he couldn’t force, or blackmail into his bed. Came in quite useful a few times, as I recall.”  
Face tried for some of his usual defiance. “More’n a few times I bet, knowing how, how... charm....char...” His voice tailed off uncertainly. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say.  
“Yeah, he doesn’t rate high in the charm school,” agreed Petersen. “Not very good in the sex stakes either...” He laughed, “you should’ve seen him trying to be tough.”  
Face blinked. He could still hear Petersen’s voice, but it seemed to be a long way off, the words fading then coming back, but each time the pauses got longer, until he couldn’t make any sense of them at all.  
He fought the sluggishness creeping over him, instinctively knowing that he shouldn’t give in to this strange lethargy... but he was so tired... and the bed was comfortable. If only Hannibal was here ...everything... would... be...  
Hannibal! Oh God! His brain came alert for a brief moment and he tried to hold onto thoughts of his lover. Where was his Colonel? where was he... and why... was... he....  
Petersen watched curiously as Peck’s muscles started to relax, the limbs losing their tenseness, the fingers uncurling from clenched fists, hands relaxing in their restraints. Then the struggle to alertness, which again faded into relaxation, until after a few more minutes, the blond lay still.  
“Now that’s much better, Joey,” murmured Petersen, running his hands up the long legs and into the open and defenceless groin. “With a bit of luck, you’ll have some nice dreams too.”   
He smiled as he fondled the well-shaped testes, “From what I’ve been told, this drug will also give you some sexual fantasies, with no holds barred.”   
He straightened up and decided to unloosen his captive’s leather ankle cuffs, then proceeded to pull off his own clothes, tossing them aside in his eagerness to get his hands on the handsome figure laid out so erotically before him.

Down in the underground tunnel, Maddox and Svenson had succeeded in finding their way into the house, though not without some difficulty, as their way had been barried by a massive door.   
It wasn’t until after a great deal of foul language that Maddox remembered and successfully activated, the hidden lever which the now deceased owner had thought only he knew about, that the door swung open and they could get out of the dank tunnel and into the basement.  
“Now Mr. Smarty Petersen, let’s see where you are,” Maddox muttered as he led the way confidently up the steps.

Face was having a bad dream.  
He was floating in a soft, pastel-coloured universe, but wasn’t at ease. He was being made to watch as a naked young man, spread-eagled on a large bed, was being violated by a man he hated and feared. He knew this, because the captive was himself. He couldn’t move, or protest, when rough hands rubbed and twisted vulnerable nipples, roaming over every inch of visible skin; not even when the fiend in human shape, roughly parted the prisoner’s thighs so he could fondle and taste the helpless genitals. The watcher winced as uncaring teeth scraped on tender flesh, hard fingers squeezing and rubbing the heavy sac, uncaring as to how the friction might hurt and he tried to close his inner eyes.   
He must’ve drifted away for a short while, for now the scene had changed: now the naked young man was being rolled over onto his belly, arms awkwardly twisted in their shackles, the attacker’s hands lifting narrow hips, so that tongue and teeth could more easily mark the smooth golden skin of buttocks; brutal thumbs were thrusting into the narrow crease, forcibly parting rounded cheeks to gain entrance to the body.  
Again, he could only watch, helplessly, passively, as the rigid organ of lust was thrust violently into the young man’s tender body. It hurt. Even though he wasn’t supposed to feel pain, he knew it hurt. He heard someone moaning and thought it might be himself.   
Hannibal wouldn’t have allowed this, where was he? He wanted Hannibal. He wanted his lover’s hands on him, not this stranger who used him so brutally, so shamefully.   
Where was Hannibal? He needed him, not this evil, depraved creature who professed admiration and his own brand of perverted love, but who only wanted to possess, conquer, slake his lust - and destroy.  
He wouldn’t mind his Colonel possessing him, with love, warmth and affection - but this? Not being able to feel loved - or give himself willingly to the man he loved - this was the hell he’d long feared.   
Peck felt silent tears gather behind his eyes; eyes that couldn’t see in his other world - but could see only too clearly, this violation and despair.  
No hope!   
Just this cloudy plane of existence, where he could only watch and wait for the ordeal to end - and wonder whether the naked young man - or himself - would survive.

Colonel Smith and his comrades were silently trailing the two drug-pushers through the basement and lower floors of the large house. It was easy to follow, they didn’t even have to keep the two men in sight. The sound of Maddox cursing at each and every barrier, was enough of a guide.  
The Colonel knew that it wasn’t wise to rush into the house, but some instinct was urging him to hurry and he was waging a silent battle with himself.  
He knew that Murdock and B.A. were half expecting him to rush the two gangsters, but along with the jazz, Smith did have a large amount of patience and common sense and he wasn’t willing to risk their present advantage by recklessness. Maddox knew where he was going and it would be much quicker to get to Face with the gangster’s unwitting help, than to go barging in and hope they hit on the right place to rescue their Lieutenant.

Petersen slumped down onto Peck’s body as he withdrew his satiated organ. “Man that was good,” he gasped aloud, “almost blew my mind clean outta my skull.”   
Rolling to one side, he sat up, regarding the silent figure below him. “Pity you won’t remember anything about it, but I’ll be able to remind you.”  
Even though the blond had been unresponsive, the drug-runner had enjoyed the thrill and feeling of power as he'd taken the younger man, no matter what the circumstances; he’d do it again as soon as he got his breath back.  
The body under him lay quite still, as it had from the beginning, but Petersen was still fairly satisfied, he could always try another cocktail of drugs, making Joey more willing to accept him and respond.  
Yes, that would be the next step. Now that he knew this drug worked, he’d try out some of the others he’d ‘inherited’ from his previous boss. It would be even better if Joey would take an active part, respond willingly to Petersen’s overtures.   
After savouring that thought for a few moments, Petersen shook his head; even through his obsessive madness, he knew that willing participation would never be an option as far as the blond was concerned.  
“So,” he said aloud, stroking his fingers along his captive's sweat soaked thighs, “I’ll just have to enjoy it for both of us. Right boy?”  
He slapped the nearest bare buttock then squeezed hard, fingers tracing the angry red welts he’d made, then bent down to bite the succulent flesh and lick between the globes. He was growing hard again as his tongue penetrated the hot dampness he’d so roughly violated, so he lost no time in positioning himself once more between the spread thighs. Grasping the narrow hips with bruising force he rubbed his hardening cock against the smooth, firm curves, feeling his orgasm build with each stroke...  
Grunting with effort, Petersen bent forward to force himself into the already bruised opening, then jerked around as a loud beeping noise sounded behind him.  
Without regard for either his own, or his victim’s comfort, he jumped off the bed, cursing volubly as his painful erection was left unsatisfied and hurried as best he could, across to the wall. Opening a large cupboard to reveal a control panel, he pressed a series of switches and a row of small video screens lit up, showing various parts of the house.  
“Shit!” Petersen swore, as he saw Maddox and Svenson inside the house. “Where the hell did they spring from?”  
Turning back to the bed, he pulled his hastily discarded pants over his now flaccid shaft, fumbled bare feet into his boots and yanked on his shirt. Checking briefly on Peck to see if he was still out, the rapist made his way to the door.

In the lower part of the old building, a deadly cat and mouse game was approaching it’s conclusion.  
The Team, led by Smith, had followed every movement of the two gangsters as they searched for the way into the upper floors.  
Maddox’s memory had been surprisingly accurate so far, and they were now climbing the back stairs to the control room.  
Breathing heavily, Maddox paused on the top stair to catch his breath. He didn’t remember the stairs being this steep and his rage boiled to the surface again. It was just one more thing for Petersen to pay for - in blood.  
His henchman stepped up beside him, less out of breath, gun ready in his hand for whatever lay ahead.  
“Which way now, Mr. Maddox?” he asked.  
Maddox motioned along the corridor to his right “That way, there’s a suite of rooms along here where Darnell used to entertain his er, guests,” he smiled wolfishly. “Had quite a little set-up here. Pity he got on the wrong side of the Family.”  
“We gonna take this place over, Boss?” Svenson asked, eyes darting around suspiciously. He didn’t like this house, it had too many places for enemies to hide.  
“Maybe.” Maddox said non-committedly. “Come on Sven, let’s get that traitorous bastard.”  
They went on down the corridor and paused outside a wood panelled door.  
Putting his hand on the knob, Maddox slowly turned it and pushed. The door was locked.  
“Shit!”  
He glanced along and saw two similar doors and moved along to them, Svenson close on his heels.  
The next door proved to be unlocked and the two men moved cautiously into the interior.  
Not cautiously enough, for as soon as they were inside, the door slammed shut on them.  
Spinning round, Maddox pounded on the door, making not the slightest impression on the hard wood.  
A small video monitor came to life on the wall beside the door and Petersen’s grinning face appeared.  
“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here Mr. Maddox...sir...” he sneered.  
“Petersen, what the hell are you playing at?” Maddox roared, lifting his gun towards the screen.  
“At the moment, I’m playing with you and old friend Sven there.” Petersen shook his head at the gun. “Don’t waste your time, you can’t do anything to me. I’ve got this place locked down tight. No one can get in here without me knowing about it.”  
Maddox raged for a few minutes, then ran out of breath along with the curses.  
“That’s better,” Petersen declared. He was enjoying himself and quite happy to trade insults with his former associates. He was sitting in the monitor control room, which was situated in the same corridor as the room where Peck was held captive, so he hadn’t had far to go once the alarm had sounded.  
Putting his feet up on the console, he gloated over his ex-Boss’ predicament.  
“Okay Petersen, you have the upper hand at the moment,” said Maddox. “What do you want?”  
“What do I want?” mused Petersen. “Well, I’ve got what I want for the present. I’ve got that cute little blond to play with; I’ve got most of your clients; and I know where the big stash is.”  
He laughed as Maddox’s face darkened to near apoplexy. “You thought I didn’t know about that, huh? I’m not dumb Maddox, I’ve been keeping an eye on you for years, it wasn’t hard to find out these things.”  
“You traitor...” snarled Maddox. “I took you out of the gutter and made you my right hand...”  
“You didn’t take me anywhere, you dumb slob. I’ve been working towards this for years. I knew you’d screw up at some time, just a question of when.” Petersen leaned forward so his face filled the screen. “You got far too greedy Maddox. The big boys didn’t like it and they want me to take over. You’re finished Maddox. You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, that’s if I let you out of here alive, of course.” He laughed and sat back again.  
He was so intent on gloating over his prisoners, he didn’t hear the door behind him open slowly.  
His first intimation that all was not well with his world, was the feel of cold steel on the back of his neck, then a large hand grabbed his wrist to prevent his instinctive lunge for the gun on the console top.  
“What the?” He sat still as the barrel of the gun was pushed harder into his neck.  
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” said a cold voice, that Peterson knew he should recognise.  
His eyes moved sideways, as another hand picked up the gun and removed it from his sight.  
“Who...who...are you?”  
“You mean you don’t recognise us?” The cold voice sounded faintly amused.  
Maddox and Svenson stared at the monitor screen. They couldn’t see what was happening although they could hear different voices.  
“Petersen, what the hell is goin’ on?” shouted Maddox.  
The monitor screen went dark and the two gangsters were left to curse and shout to a blank wall.

Petersen was staring at the three men standing in a half circle around his chair. His eyes widened. “The A-Team. Well I’ll be damned.”  
“Yes, you certainly are,” said the man with the gun, whom Petersen recognised as Colonel Smith.  
“How did you get in here?” Petersen was genuinely mystified. “The whole place is covered in security cameras.”  
“Trade secret,” declared Smith, then gestured to the seated man. “Stand up, you bag of manure.”  
“Name calling, I thought better...” Petersen’s mocking words were driven back into his throat as Smith’s free hand whipped across his face in an open slap, hard enough to stagger him back a pace.  
“No time to listen to your crap, Petersen. Where’s Peck?”  
Petersen rubbed at his chin. “Aha...you’ve come to rescue the captive beauty have you?” he grinned evilly. “Find him yourselves.”  
He stopped as the large, very angry, figure of Baracus stepped forward and grabbed him by the throat, snarling wordlessly.  
Smith held up a hand. “We’ll find him, but it might be easier if you told us...easier on you I mean,” his voice was mild, but there was no mistaking the threat in the Arctic blue eyes.  
“Okay, okay...I’ll show you,” Petersen said sullenly, rubbing his throat.  
BA pushed him forward and Petersen decided he’d better comply - for the moment.  
“I’d still like to know how you got in here without being picked up by the security cameras,” he said, his mind racing with thoughts of how to turn the tables.   
“We’ll save that one for a rainy day,” said Smith, “but I’ll give you a clue. Always expect the unexpected - and don’t believe all you see.”  
With that cryptic remark, he followed Petersen out of the room.  
The Team had in fact, merely followed Maddox at a safe distance, giving them time to spot the different cameras, which BA, with his expert knowledge of electronics, had taken care of with ease. Petersen had been so intent on watching Maddox and Svenson, he hadn’t bothered to check on anyone else following behind them.  
BA and Murdock following their Colonel in silence, both too worried to indulge in their usual verbal sparring match.

Petersen stopped outside a door further along the long passageway and raised his hand towards a small panel set on the wall beside it.  
Smith grabbed his wrist. “Careful Petersen.”  
The dark man gave him a savage look “I have to key in the code or the door won’t open,” he said.  
“BA?”  
The big sergeant stepped forward and checked the panel visually. “Looks like an ordinary alarm panel Hannibal,” he said briefly.  
“Okay.” Smith released the other man’s wrist and nodded. “No tricks Petersen. I’d just love to take you to the cleaners.”  
“No way,” Petersen sneered, as he keyed in an eight-digit number, then casually pressed another switch. There was a click as the mechanism snapped open and Petersen stood back and waved a hand as though ushering invited guests.   
Smith pushed him forward. “After you, sleazeball. I’d better find our friend in here, or you’re dead meat on a slab.” His voice was cold.  
“Oh he’s here,” sneered Petersen. “We’ve just been having a bit of fun, so he might not be too receptive for a while.”  
Tight-lipped, Smith pushed the other man further into the room and stepped after him.  
It was empty.  
Turning to Petersen he raised the gun and the gangster, recognising the very real threat, nodded hurriedly towards the elaborate partition across the room. “Behind there.”  
Hannibal didn’t know quite what he expected, but the sight of his lieutenant lying on the bed, was enough to stop his breath for an instant.  
He heard BA swear softly behind him and Murdock’s low moan “Oh no...”  
He couldn’t acknowledge his colleagues, had no words to express his sheer horror.   
He was too late, the bastard had raped Face again.  
Hannibal walked slowly across to the bed and halted, his silver head bent hiding the expression on his face as he looked down at his naked lover.   
Face was still lying on his front, arms twisted and shackled above his head, his legs spread wide apart; the marks and stains of his most recent ordeal still obscenely evident against his fair skin.  
Smith leaned down and unfastened the nearest wrist, one hand going out to touch the fair hair.  
Petersen looked on with interest, then smiled evilly. “Nice huh, Smith. You want your turn to screw him,” he laughed harshly. “He’s a very tasty morsel, well worth the effort....”  
He was standing halfway between the bed and the door, which was being guarded by B.A. with Murdock supposedly helping. The pilot, however, wasn’t in any shape for guard-duty. He was shivering, his dark eyes fixed on the bed and its still unconscious occupant.  
Hannibal could hardly breathe for the rage that choked him - and the guilt. He hadn’t been able to stop this latest assault and blamed himself for not moving faster.  
Petersen’s words echoed dully through his churning thoughts, then coalesced into a blinding flash of hatred.  
With a wordless snarl of pure rage, he flung himself at Petersen, his bare hands reaching for the gangster’s throat in a primitive need to feel the other choke under his grip.  
Petersen had been hoping for some sort of reaction; he’d enjoyed the feeling of triumph as he saw the shock on the faces of the three men at their first glimpse of his victim, but was taken aback by the Colonel’s ferocity and sheer speed. He caught Hannibal’s weight full in the chest and they fell to the carpeted floor.   
Petersen wasn’t the only one surprised. B.A. and Murdock had never seen their Colonel so full of rage before, not since the prison camp when he’d been helpless to halt the VC’s brutality against his men. Then, his rage had been cold, he’d had to keep his emotions in check to avoid further retaliation against the men under his command.  
This fury was white-hot and out of control.   
B.A. made a tentative step forward, then halted, throwing a glance at Murdock.  
The pilot glanced at him, then shook his head. No-one could’ve stopped Hannibal at this moment, he didn’t even want to try.  
The normally gentle-natured pilot wanted to watch this; watch his leader take revenge for all that his friend had suffered under Petersen’s sadistic hands.  
The fight raged across the floor, first one man on top, then the other: the meaty sound of fists impacting on flesh; clothes and skin tearing under the onslaught, blood flowing from burst noses and various cuts.   
Petersen soon realised that this was a fight to the death. He could feel Smith’s full strength being unleashed against him and the ex-Special Forces man knew how to fight; he matched and mastered every dirty trick that Petersen could threw at him.  
For the first time in his corrupt existence, Petersen felt fear, which was rapidly turning into abject terror, as the older man systematically pounded the breath from his body. He managed to get to his feet, kicking out at Smith, catching Hannibal in the ribs. It didn’t even slow the older man down.  
From the floor, Hannibal swung a long leg and drove a solid kick into Petersen’s stomach which felled the dark man, then threw himself on top of his enemy, his hands closing around his neck to choke the life from him.  
No matter how much Petersen twisted and turned, he couldn’t shake that grip.  
He drove his fist into Hannibal’s back and heard the older man grunt, but the hands didn’t falter. Black dots were dancing in front of Petersen’s eyes, and knew he was dying.  
”Please...” he begged inaudibly.   
Smith’s bloodstained mouth was set in a snarl of hatred and he ignored the feeble grip of the gangster’s hands on his, as the dying man tried to unlock his tight grasp.  
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, startling B.A. and Murdock into turning.   
They saw Maddox and Svenson standing in the open doorway and belatedly realised that they should’ve checked on them earlier.   
“Drop the guns,” warned Svenson.   
The two comrades reluctantly obeyed.  
Smith didn’t even glance up from the task in hand. He was determined that this man would never have the opportunity of hurting his beloved ever again.  
Maddox shouted and fired the gun again, without any response from the two men fighting on the floor.  
Cursing, he stepped over to them and with a snarl of rage, raked the gun barrel across the back of Smith’s head, stunning him enough to release the death grip he had on Petersen’s throat.  
Hannibal slumped limply to one side, not quite unconscious, but dazed enough to let go.  
Murdock gave an inarticulate cry and ignoring Svenson’s gun, stepped forward and knelt beside his leader. “Hannibal, Hannibal...”  
B.A. glowered at Svenson and clenched his big hands as he took a step forward.   
“Stay put,” warned the gunman, aiming straight at him.  
B.A. halted, knowing from the Swede’s eyes that he wouldn’t hesitate to open fire. Even through his rage, the sergeant knew he’d be no help to his friends, if he was dead.  
Petersen lay coughing on the floor, legs curled up as the spasms shook his whole body.  
Maddox watched in amusement. He’d never seen his erstwhile colleague in such a condition before. He liked it. “Come on Petersen, you ain’t dead yet. Get up.” He prodded the recumbent man with the toe of his shoe, not being very gentle about it.  
With his pilot’s help, Smith was starting to sit up; reaching one hand to the back of his silver head, it came away stained with blood. His eyes were still dazed, but he knew that the tide had turned, once again, in the enemy’s favour.  
Damn, just a few more minutes and I would’ve had the son-of-a-bitch...Oh Tem...I’m sorry!  
Maddox was grinning. Now that he had the upper hand he would show his erstwhile colleague and this damned A-Team exactly who was in charge.  
He wandered across to the bed and gazed thoughtfully down at the nude figure lying there. “I see you’ve been poaching on my reserves again, Petersen.” He glanced over at his erstwhile lieutenant. “I knew you fancied him, despite all that cool macho act. Is he still as talented, as well as beautiful?”   
Petersen didn’t reply, merely glared at the other man.  
“Don’t you touch him, you bastard,” grated Hannibal, stumbling to his feet.  
“Or what, Colonel?” Maddox turned to face the soldier.  
“I’ll break your neck,” Hannibal’s voice was very cold.  
Maddox leaned down and ran a hand up Face’s bare thigh, leering up at Smith. “I’m waiting Colonel,” he sneered with a lascivious grin.  
Hannibal took a step forward, only to feel Murdock’s hand on his arm. “Not yet, Colonel,” the pilot said softly, “not yet.”  
Smith tugged himself free, but staggered as his vision blurred, the ache in his head intensifying and he slipped to the floor again with a faint moan, one hand over his eyes.  
B.A. tensed, then relaxed as Murdock turned to look at him. The faintest of nods acknowledged the silent message. He could wait. The Team had always had patience when it was necessary.  
“How did you get out, the door was locked?” asked Murdock, curious despite their situation.  
Maddox shrugged. “Don’t know. It was locked, then it was unlocked.”  
B.A. grunted in sudden understanding. "That control panel," he growled. "Must've had a master switch."  
The pilot nodded, but didn't say anything else. It didn't really matter now.  
Seeing that the famed A-Team were going to be quiet, Maddox walked to the far side of the bed and picked up the needle lying there.  
He turned to look at Petersen who was still sitting on the floor, although his breathing was now almost back to normal.  
“What is this shit? You sampling the merchandise? Never thought I’d see the day.” Maddox sneered.  
Petersen jerked his head up. “No I haven’t,” he snarled, stung by Maddox’s words.  
“Oh I see,” Maddox tapped the gun against his chin musingly. “You can’t get the kid to cooperate without drugging him up to the eyeballs.” He smirked. “Not your usual style. Last time we had the pleasure...” he laughed as he caught Smith’s murderous expression and added deliberately: “Last time I had Peck, we didn’t bother with drugs.”  
“No,” snapped Petersen, “you and that German slob almost killed him with torture. What pleasure is there in that?” He laughed. “At least tonight I had some pleasure out of him. That’s something you didn’t.”  
The two men stared at each other, seemingly unaware of anyone else in the room, then Maddox said. “I do what I want to do, I thought you knew that Petersen. If I wanted romance, I would’ve picked someone willing. He needed a lesson and I - we - gave it to him, that gave me pleasure” he snorted, then turned to the other Team members. “You all need a lesson, not to mess in my business.”  
“It is our business when your drugs corrupt the kids on the streets.” B.A. surprised everyone by voicing his opinion.  
“If it wasn’t my merchandise it would be someone else’s. They get what they want,” Maddox said indifferently.   
Baracus growled deep in his throat and even Svenson took a tighter grip on his gun. The big sergeant didn’t move though, he was waiting...  
Murdock was tense; he too, was waiting.  
Hannibal rubbed a hand across his face, he was feeling the adrenaline rush of readying himself for action. He stayed at the bottom of the bed, listening to the words and slowly gathering his mental and physical strength to move.  
What happened next surprised them all...  
Maddox was leaning over the bed, running the fingers of one hand through Face’s hair, his breathing suddenly harsh as he contemplated what he was going to do to that supine body lying so helplessly in front of him. It would be an added sweetness to make Smith and the others watch.  
What he didn’t expect was the hard blow between his eyes from Peck’s free hand.  
Face had been slowly surfacing from his drugged state for the last ten minutes, alternating between wakefulness and nightmare. He’d felt gentle hands releasing one of his shackles and was immediately grateful for the relief on his strained muscles.  
He’d heard Petersen’s voice taunting Hannibal, then the sounds of a fight.  
Then he’d heard other sounds, gunshots, and the angry words between Petersen and Maddox.  
Face moaned without sound. No..No...No...not now, not when they were so close to safety...  
He fought the urge to fall asleep again, the drug still holding him, but, it was wearing off.  
As he felt the touch of Maddox’s hand, the hard breathing beside his ear and recognised them from his old nightmares, he felt a surge of such hatred and loathing it galvanized his muscles into action. He struck out with all his strength, his senses guiding his aim. It was true, and he felt the wetness of blood spurt as his knuckles burst Maddox’s nose.  
The gangster’s scream of surprise and pain was all that the Team had been waiting for; they didn’t know how it would happen, just knew that it would. They’d all had years to prepare for such situations; as Hannibal said, there was always a chance and they were ready to take it when it occurred.  
At his Boss’ scream, Svenson turned his head in shock and B.A. stepped forward and put every ounce of his considerable strength into the blow that felled the bulky Swede like a poleaxed steer.  
Hannibal leapt to his feet and dragged Maddox away from the bed. There was no resistance, the man was moaning and cursing, blood covering his shirt, both hands pressed to his injured face.  
Murdock dived forward and picked up the fallen weapons and stood back against the wall, covering Petersen, who was still sitting on the floor, open-mouthed with surprise.  
Hannibal pushed Maddox towards B.A. then sat on the edge of the mattress, not giving him a second glance as he loosened the rest of his lieutenant’s restraints.  
Peck was still tense, not knowing what had gone down just glad that the hated touch was gone.  
Instead of the blow he was expecting, familiar hands were on him, loosening the tight bindings, gentle fingers stroking through his hair. The faint aroma of expensive cigars clinging to the clothes.  
“Hannibal?” he murmured, daring to hope.  
“Yes, I’m here, Tem... I’m here...” Smith’s voice was choked.  
Face lifted his arms and was instantly gathered into his Colonel’s broad chest, sheltering arms around him. A sigh of relief gusted from his parted lips. He’d been scared and alone, now he wasn’t alone, his friends, his lover were here to take him home.  
“Let’s go home, Hannibal,” he said softly. “I don’t like it here.”  
Smith gathered the sheet and wrapped it around his lover, cradling him gently.   
“Yes, Face, we’re going home.”  
Murdock and Baracus exchanged a small smile. Looked like everything was going to be okay.  
B.A. had taken great delight in forcibly sitting Maddox on the floor beside his colleagues, then found some cord and started tying up Svenson, who was still out cold. When he got round to Maddox, the gang boss was still whimpering, although the blood flow from his nose had eased to a trickle.  
“Not quite so brave now, are you, scum?” hissed Murdock, coming away from the wall to help.  
Maddox flashed a look of hatred mixed with fear at the tall pilot as B.A. tied his hands together in front of him, then pulled a handkerchief out of the gangster’s pocket to hold against his nose. Not that the sergeant cared whether Maddox was in pain, he just didn’t want the man to choke before they’d finished with him.  
Murdock turned to Petersen. “Your turn now, put your hands behind you.”  
Petersen turned round and obeyed, still watching for an opportunity to escape, or turn the tables.  
He’d been as surprised as anyone at Peck’s actions, yet somehow it gave him a sexual high to see the younger man’s defiance. He had to have him back. What times they would have.  
Peck at the moment was feeling safe in his lover’s embrace. The arms so strong holding him close, the feel of lips on his hair... and yet... something wasn’t quite right. Knowing Smith as well as he did, with his senses heightened by his blindness and the residue of drugs in his system, he knew something was bothering Hannibal. Something to do with him?  
Drawing back a fraction of an inch he started to ask what was wrong, but a flurry of activity halted the words.  
Petersen made his break for freedom, rolling to his feet and hurling himself towards the open door.  
It had only taken a fraction of a second whilst Murdock turned to check on Svenson, but that was all the rapist had needed. While the tall figure of the pilot obscured BA’s aim, Petersen was through the door and into the corridor.  
Hannibal turned quickly at Murdock’s yell of rage and saw his enemy disappearing.  
Disentangling himself from Face’s arms was hard for him, but he couldn’t let that animal escape.  
“Look after Face,” he shouted to Murdock and was gone in pursuit.  
“Hannibal...Hannibal...” Face’s hands were outstretched, blindly searching for the comforting embrace which had suddenly disappeared.  
“He’s gone after Petersen,” cried Murdock coming across to the bed and holding his friend’s hands.  
“No, oh no...” cried Face. “Call him back, Murdock, get him back...”  
The pilot tried to soothe him. “He’ll be okay, Face. Don’t worry.”   
“No. He doesn’t know this place, Petersen does,” insisted Peck, struggling to get off the bed and stand on his wobbling feet.   
Murdock glanced over to Baracus, who was hesitating in the open door. The sergeant gave a grunt and started out after his leader.  
“B.A.’s gone after him, calm down, they’ll be okay.” Murdock hoped desperately that it was true.  
BA hesitated outside the door, unsure in which direction the others had gone. Then he heard the sound of running footsteps and pounded off after them.  
Hannibal was on Petersen’s heels as the gangster twisted and turned along the maze of passages in the old house. Having come up from the basement, Smith knew the building was large, but the number of doors and different passages, were confusing to say the least.  
He could hear Baracus’ heavy footsteps somewhere behind him, but didn’t pause, knowing the sergeant would catch up in due time. He didn’t seem to be gaining on his enemy and tried to flog his aching muscles to move faster. That fight had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t give up. This monster had to be stopped, he didn’t intend to spend his future time with Face looking over his shoulder for Petersen to reappear.

Petersen twisted and turned, trying to lose the man running doggedly on his heels. Didn’t that guy ever give up? he wondered savagely.  
Ducking into a small side corridor, he opened a door in the left wall, stepped through and held his breath.   
Running footsteps came nearer, then passed. Petersen sighed in relief.  
It was short-lived, for as he turned to cross the room, the footsteps returned, quieter, as though searching.  
Damn you to Hell, thought Petersen as he ran across the room and dived through another door.  
Hannibal paused outside the door in the small corridor. He’d realised he’d lost his enemy when he’d failed to hear any sounds from the other man in front of him.  
Halting, he’d backtracked and found the almost invisible doorway and paused to catch his breath. He didn’t like this at all, he was being led further and further into the house and away from his comrades.  
Whether it was deliberate or not, he didn’t know, but it couldn’t be helped, he had to continue.  
Opening the door carefully, he peered inside the room. It was empty.  
Another door in the far wall indicated Petersen’s probable exit.  
Smith cursed softly and started to cross the room, then halted. This was ridiculous. He was allowing Petersen to set the pace, chasing a man who knew this house a lot better than he did.   
Come on man, think. Where would Petersen be heading. I need a map, he thought to himself.  
“A map!” Hannibal smiled grimly and turning in his tracks, headed back the way he’d come.

Back in the room, Murdock was trying to cope with a distraught lieutenant whilst keeping on eye on their two prisoners.  
Face was on his unsteady feet, trying hard to shake off the remains of the drug in his system.   
“Where’re my clothes?” he asked dazedly, realising he was naked.  
“I’ll get them Facie, just hang on a second.” Murdock steered his friend back to sit on the edge of the bed and went across to pick up Peck’s discarded clothes, throwing Maddox a murderous look as he did so.  
The gang boss was too busy wiping his bloody nose to take much heed and the pilot returned to the bedside with the jeans and footwear. The torn shirt was unwearable.  
Helping his uncoordinated friend to dress kept the flyer occupied for the next few minutes, but once Face was clothed, the pilot was free to worry about his other companions’ whereabouts.  
Come on Hannibal - you too BA. Where the hell are you? he wondered to himself. 

The Colonel was heading back towards them, intent on reaching the monitor control room. He’d called BA on their short-wave radios and told the big sergeant to meet him there. He wanted Baracus close by in case he needed help with the electronics to search for their enemy by remote control.

Unaware that his nemesis was no longer following him, Petersen also headed for the Monitor room. He needed to be able to see where everyone was. He had no intention of allowing any of his enemies to escape. The only one he wanted alive was Peck, the others he would dispose of.  
Unlike Maddox, Petersen wasn’t interested in revenge as such. He got a thrill out of baiting Smith and Peck’s other friends, but he wouldn’t allow that to interfere with his single-minded plan to ‘possess’ the blond conman who had been the only person to raise his interest for many years.  
So, with murder and evil intent on his mind, the drug runner made his way through the house, he had one more stop to make first. Insurance. That was what he needed, just in case things did not go smoothly, he had one last and final card to play.

Hannibal reached the monitor room and slowly opened the door, gun in hand, checking to see if the coast was clear.  
It was. No sign of Petersen.  
Putting the gun in his belt, he walked over to the bank of VDUs and switched on the nearest screen, then took a step back in shock as Murdock’s face filled it.  
Smiling slightly, Hannibal watched as the pilot tapped the lens on his side, then turned aside as Face spoke to him.   
Finding the microphone, Smith blew into it softly and his smile widened as Murdock jumped round to glare at the wall.   
”Hey Murdock, it’s me,” said Smith.  
The pilot’s angry expression faded and was replaced by a huge grin. “Hannibal? Where the hell are you?”  
“Control room, thought it would be quicker looking for Petersen by remote control. How’s Face?”  
“Okay... more or less,” replied Murdock, his eyes clouding over. “Here, I’ll get him.”  
“Hannibal? Hannibal?” Face’s voice was shaky, then as Murdock guided him to the lens, Smith could see for himself what his Captain had meant.  
Face was white and unsteady. His unfocussed eyes were dull with the after effects of the drugs Petersen had pumped into him and he looked strained and ill. He was wearing his own jeans but with Murdock’s jacket slung over bare shoulders, his lack of attire merely adding to his air of anxiety.  
“I’m here, Tem,” he said softly, wanting to put his arms round his lover.  
”Oh Hannibal, please hurry up. Let’s get out of this place.”  
“We will, Tem, we will. Just have to tidy up some garbage.”  
“No, Hannibal. Leave him for the cops. I want to go home, now.” Face was near to pleading.  
“I want that too, Tem, but I can’t leave Petersen loose. He’ll just come back and back until he’s stopped for good.”  
Face’s expression was one of despair. “We’re never ever going to be free of him, or others like him, are we?”  
“Yes, Tem, we will. Because this ends now. Then we’ll all go home.” Hannibal’s tone tried for reassurance, but his lieutenant knew him too well.  
“He knows this place a lot better than any of us, Hannibal. He’ll kill you, and Murdock and BA - then when he’s finished with me, I’ll be joining you.”  
Hannibal gripped the microphone hard. “No, Tem. Listen to me. He’s not going to win - we’ve got him on the run, we’ll finish it here and now.”  
Face shook his head, dishevelled hair falling over his brow. “No. I might as well just sit here and wait for him to come back. The sooner he gets his way, the sooner he’ll kill me - then I won’t have to worry about him, or anything else, ever again.” He turned away, stumbling a little before Murdock’s strong arm caught and steadied him.  
“Tem! Templeton. Don’t you dare even think such a thing,” Hannibal’s voice was hard with the need to drive his message home. He was even more worried now, this was a mood of Peck’s that he couldn’t remember seeing before. It sounded like he was giving up. No, that couldn’t be right, his lieutenant would never give up. He’s never been blind before, was the thought which sneaked past his defences.  
Hannibal shook his head. Thoughts like these weren’t getting him anywhere. He meant to get this job done and finished.  
“Face, Face?”  
Tem shook his head and abruptly slipped out from under Murdock’s arm and disappeared from the screen.  
“I’ll watch him Hannibal,” Murdock’s voice was subdued, he was shaken by the scene he’d just witnessed, he’d never seen his best friend so low.  
“Take care of him Murdock,” Smith’s voice was low. “I have to finish this here and now.”  
Murdock nodded. “Be careful Hannibal - for all our sakes.”  
Staying in this room was the hardest thing Smith had ever done, His every instinct was to run back to his lover and get them all out of this house which, over the years, had seen so much pain.  
He heard BA’s voice behind him. “What you want me to do, Colonel?”  
Smith straightened his shoulders. His sergeant had the knack of bringing his mind back into focus.  
“We find that dirtbag, then get the hell out of here.”   
“Sounds like a plan to me,” replied Baracus with the barest hint of a smile in his voice.  
Hannibal swung round to look at the man who’d stood beside him for many years, way back, even before he’d met his beloved lieutenant.  
“Thanks B.A.” he murmured.  
Baracus came to stand beside his commander and pulled out a stool from under the long shelf holding the monitoring equipment. Sitting down, he reached for the master control board.  
“Right. Let’s see where that sucka’s hidin’.”  
Smith watched for a moment, then moved to the door to stand guard. He had every confidence in his sergeant’s experience, whether it be in electronics or mechanical. If there was any piece of equipment remotely connected with surveillance, tracking or monitoring, that Baracus didn’t know about, it hadn’t yet been invented.  
Minutes passed, the tension growing in Smith’s belly. He wanted to be with Face, hold him close and reassure him that everything would work out, even if he couldn’t, at the moment, see how he would accomplish such a feat.   
With an effort, he maintained the calm front he habitually displayed to the world, then took time from his guard duties to search the room, looking for any kind of evidence which might help put Petersen away for good. He was surprised when he found, in an unlocked file cabinet, a set of address books with names and what looked like code numbers, reels of film and a few video tapes. His mouth tightened as he remembered anther video tape, but placed them in a bag with the rest of his discoveries. On a sudden impulse, he hurriedly checked the recording machines and found one full tape, which he added to the bag. Although Maloney had seemed sure that there was only that one tape he'd given Smith, he'd check them before handing them over, just in case. It was a measure of Petersen's arrogance that he'd left such damning evidence lying around. Although he'd probably thought he was quite secure in this lonely house.   
Baracus suddenly let out a gruff growl of satisfaction. “Got the sucka.”  
Smith hurried to the console and looked at the screen BA was working on.  
He saw the hated figure of Petersen walking up a corridor, but which one.  
“Where’s that, BA?” he asked tersely.  
Checking the location BA swung round, his eyes wide. “He’s in the next corridor to where we left Face and Murdock.”  
“What the hell is he doing there?” Smith wondered. Then he put a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. “Can you get Murdock - warn him?”  
“Sure man.” BA touched a couple of switches and in a few seconds, the room where their companions were waiting appeared on the screen.   
Murdock was sitting on the arm of the big chair beside Face, a long arm slung around the smaller man’s shoulders.   
“Hey Murdock,” said BA softly.  
They saw the pilot look towards the lens and get to his feet, patting Face’s arm as he rose.  
“Yes Big Guy. What’s up?”  
Smith bent forward. “Heads up Captain, you may be getting an unwelcome visitor in a few minutes.”  
Murdock’s brown eyes widened, then narrowed in fury. “Right Colonel. I’ll be ready for him.” He pulled the gun from his belt.  
“No, Murdock.” Smith ordered. “Don’t tackle him alone, BA and I are on our way.”  
“But Hannibal...” protested the pilot.  
“Do it Murdock,” hissed Smith. “Take care of Face, see that Petersen doesn’t touch him, and make sure Maddox is tied up tight.”  
“Okay Colonel,” Murdock’s voice was tight with anger, but not really with his commander.  
Baracus had been keeping an eye on Petersen as the man continued on his way. Every now and then he turned to check the corridor behind him, but kept on with his mission, whatever that may have been.

In the bedroom, Murdock was almost hopping with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. He had persuaded Face to sit back in the armchair, the blond lieutenant flatly refusing to lie on the bed, and the tall pilot was now standing guard halfway between the chair and the door.  
Maddox and Svenson were still on the floor, too immersed in their own misery to even think of causing any trouble.  
Grasping the butt of his gun tightly, Murdock waited, his nerves stretched to breaking point.

Petersen continued on his way, watched closely by Smith and Baracus. It seemed now certain he was heading for the bedroom.   
“He’s an arrogant son-of-a-bitch,” said Smith through his teeth. “Thinks he can take all of us.”  
“Either that, or he thinks Face is on his own,” muttered B.A.  
Smith nodded his head slowly. “I think you’ve hit it, B.A. He knows I was following him, must think we think he won’t go back to that room.”  
“What you wanna do, Hannibal? Watch from here to make sure, or make for the bedroom?”  
Smith was undecided, the very thought of Petersen getting anywhere near Face was not to be borne, yet he had to make sure that the callous drug-runner was put out of action - hopefully for good.   
“We’ll wait a little longer. We can get there in just a few minutes, now we know where we are in this rat-hole of a house.”  
So they waited. 

Petersen was getting edgy. He hadn’t heard any sounds of pursuit for quite some time. Either that bastard Smith had lost him, or... got out of the house?  
Shit! He couldn’t allow that to happen.   
No, no... keep calm now. Smith might have gone back to the bedroom. He had to find out. In any case, that’s where he wanted to be.  
His mind made up, he clutched the gun he’d picked up from his cache of hidden weapons and made his way silently to the room where he’d had so much fun with Peck.

“He’s going for the bedroom, Hannibal,” hissed B.A. as he saw the figure on the monitor turn the corner, heading towards their friends’ location.  
“Right. Come on B.A. Let’s get that bastard for good.”  
Grabbing up the bag of evidence he'd collected, Smith tossed it towards his sergeant and then the two veterans ran quickly towards a final showdown with their enemy.

Petersen approached the bedroom carefully. Standing to one side of the slightly open door, he glanced through the crack and had a limited view of the interior.  
He could see Svenson’s legs and the back of Maddox’s head as he lay behind his huge confederate.  
Shifting position slightly, Petersen caught a glimpse of blond hair and a leather-clad shoulder in the big armchair.  
Ah... you’re still here, his eyes gleamed lecherously.   
Where were the rest of the A-Team? He couldn’t see any of them from this angle. Surely his luck couldn’t be that good, to find the object of his obsessed lust alone?  
Sliding one foot forward, he started to ease the door open, then suddenly flung it back, crashing it against the wall. If anyone was standing behind, it would knock them more than a little off balance.  
Unfortunately for Petersen, Murdock was standing flat against the wall on the other side of the doorway; as the dark man sprang forward into the room, he struck out, the gun in his hand smashing into Petersen’s forearm, causing the assassin to drop the gun, which skittered crazily over the carpet.  
Petersen clutched his arm, snarling with pain and fury he swung round, his black eyes meeting the pilot’s brown ones, which weren’t cold, but ablaze with righteous fury.  
Dirty Harry’s voice spoke into the sudden silence. “Come on punk, make my day. Please...”  
At that moment, Murdock was more than inclined just to shoot the bastard in front of him and destroy for all time any threat to his friends’ safety and peace of mind.  
Petersen stilled. His own killer’s instinct informed him that he was a hairbreadth away from eternity.  
The frozen tableau was broken as Smith came charging up the corridor, BA hot in his heels.  
“Murdock? Good, you got him.”  
“Yes, I got him Hannibal. Now can I kill him?” The pilot’s voice was coldly sane, it sent a shiver down the backs of both his friends.  
“Uh, not yet, Captain.”  
“Why not?” The question was simple and direct. “He’s caused you and Face a lot of pain, not to mention me and the Big Guy.”  
“Because much as I’d like to drop the hammer on this piece of shit myself Captain, it would be murder, and we’ve never killed in cold blood, not even in ‘Nam.”  
Murdock didn’t look convinced, but he slowly lowered the hammer of the gun, but kept it pointing at Petersen.  
Petersen sneered. “Think you’re all heroes, don’t ya, just ‘cos you went to Vietnam...”  
“Shut up Petersen, before I change my mind.” Smith’s voice was ice itself. “A lot of good men died out there, better than you’ll ever be.”  
“Bunch of idiots you mean, dying for nothing.” sneered Petersen.  
BA snarled wordlessly and grabbed Petersen by the throat, squeezing hard on the man’s windpipe.  
It wasn’t until his enemy’s face began to turn blue, that Smith tapped his sergeant on the arm. “Okay, B.A. I think Mr. Petersen gets the message.”   
Baracus dropped the limp man like a piece of garbage and went back to stand by the door.  
The dark man lay on the carpet, coughing as air returned to his starved lungs, his thoughts as black as his soul.   
Face, who had been sitting quietly in the chair, started to get up, the tension in him almost palpable.  
“Now can we go, Hannibal?” he cried. “I want out of this rotten place.”  
Hannibal crossed the space between them, putting an arm round his lover’s shoulders, which were quivering with a mixture of fear and frustrated anger.  
“Yes, Tem. We’ll be going home in just a few minutes.” He gently pushed the smaller man back into the chair. “Just hang on a few minutes longer... we’re almost there, hang in there kid.” He brushed his fingers lightly over Face’s lips, feeling them tremble ever so slightly, then harden into a firm line.  
“Okay,” Face whispered. He sat back, his fists clenched on his knees, trying for a calm he knew was fragile to say the least.  
Hannibal moved back towards the door as Petersen staggered groggily to his feet, one hand on his bruised throat, jealous hatred etched in every line of his coarse features.  
“How touching,” he sneered, hoarsely. “Go on, give him a kiss, we’ll wait until you’ve finished... then we’ll all have a turn...” He croaked out a harsh laugh at the appalled look on the faces of his enemies.   
“What? I’m the only honest person here? I say what I want.. and I want him.” He pointed at the figure in the chair, laughing insanely... “and sooner or later, I’m gonna have him....”  
A gunshot rang out and Petersen’s laugh stopped in a gurgle of astonishment.  
Smith jerked around, gun coming up in a reflex action as he aimed at whoever had fired the gun. His eyes fell on Maddox, still lying on the floor, his bound hands awkwardly holding a smoking gun - the gun which Petersen had dropped.  
“Lose it!” commanded Smith, taking three quick paces and pressing his own gun to the other man’s head.  
Maddox dropped the weapon, a satisfied smile on his face. “Okay Smith, I got the traitorous bastard .... knew I would.”  
At the sound of the shot, Face had jerked forward a hand coming up to his mouth. “Hannibal?” he yelled.   
“It’s okay Face, we’re not hurt...”  
The lieutenant fell back into the chair, hands over his blind eyes. “Thank God,” he whispered.  
Murdock and BA had stood frozen for an instant in time, then they both moved towards their leader. BA picked up the fallen gun and put it into his belt, while Murdock went to see how badly Petersen was hurt, not that he cared, but it was something that needed to be done.  
Petersen was still on his feet, but crouched over to one side, one hand pressing into his chest, blood beginning to seep through his black shirt.  
He coughed and stared back at his former boss. “Why Maddox, didn’t know you had it in you.”  
Maddox stared up at him, “I always told you what would happen if you, or anyone else double-crossed me, Petersen, shame you didn’t take any notice.”  
Petersen’s grin was macabre, his lips covered in a faint red foam as he coughed again. He staggered forward another two steps until he came up against the back of Face’s chair. He reached out a hand to touch the mane of fair hair. “You have such beautiful hair...so soft, so silky...love to touch it...”  
Peck froze at the touch, then flung himself forward, out from under the stroking hand, rolling over twice as he hit the carpet.  
Murdock reached forward to drag the mobster away, but before he could get a firm grip on the wounded man, Petersen fell sideways to the floor, curled over onto his side, the blood stain growing larger by the second.  
Smith sprung forward to help his lover up from the floor and BA growled warningly at Maddox who was inching towards the door.  
Face cried out as hands caught him, then relaxed as he recognised the familiar touch of his commander.   
Smith held him tightly as the slim body trembled uncontrollably. “Face, Face, it’s all over... Petersen’s down, Maddox shot him...”  
“G...g...good,” stammered the lieutenant.  
Smith turned to look at Murdock. “What’s the verdict Captain?”  
Murdock shook his head. “It’s a bad wound, Colonel. Looks like a lung shot. Doubt whether he’ll make it to Death Row.”  
“Tough!” was Smith’s only comment.  
He knew it sounded callous and would probably have shocked anyone who knew them; the Team members normally showed compassion to anyone who’d been badly wounded, even an enemy, but somehow, none of them could feel the slightest regret at seeing Petersen cut down by one of his own gang, and with his own gun.  
They still couldn’t allow him to bleed to death without some form of first aid, however, so Murdock tore off Petersen’s black shirt to make a large pad and held it over the wound in the gangster’s chest.   
Petersen’s eyes fluttered open, glaring his hatred at the man trying to help him. As Murdock glanced up at Smith, the drug-runner moved his hand slowly to his belt and fumbled there for a moment, then grinned up at his enemies. He had won, the ace up his sleeve would finish them all.  
“Still get the last laugh, you assholes...” he whispered.   
“What?” Looking back down, Murdock saw the faint movement of the fingers and grabbed at Petersen’s hand, pulling it away from his belt. In the bloodstained fingers was a remote control, not unlike the ones he used for his VCR recorder back at the VA, but much smaller.  
“Hannibal... B.A.” he shouted, showing them the device.  
They stared at it in horror.  
“Bomb?”  
Petersen grinned gleefully. “Yep... set to go off in a few minutes, blow this while fucking place up; no-one will ever get their hands on my stash, never be able to use this place again...”  
“Where is it?” demanded Smith, staring down at his foe.  
“In the basement, but you’ll never get there in time... you don’t know the way outta this house anyway, so it’s goodbye for us all.” He looked up at Peck who was still standing under Smith’s protective arm. “Shame about you, Blondie, but as the old saying goes....” he coughed again harshly, but finished... “if I can’t have you, no one else will...”  
“You son-of-a-bitch,” said Face in a low tone, staring down towards the sound of that hated voice. “You never had me... not where it counts.” He leaned closer into his lover’s side, putting an arm round Smith’s waist. If they were all going to die, at least they were together, he wasn’t afraid any longer.  
Petersen stared at him in some wonderment, then his eyes closed and his hands fell limply to the floor.  
Maddox was shouting “We have to get out of here. Let me go... I know the way..”  
“So do I,” said Baracus shortly.   
Smith looked at him, one black eyebrow raised..   
“Punched all exits up on that fancy computer of his...” explained the sergeant He shared a small grin with his commander. “Shall we go?”  
Murdock whooped as he got to his feet, running up to BA and kissing him soundly on the cheek.   
The sergeant swatted him half-heartedly. “Get off me fool. Got to get outta here.”  
“Come on guys, no knowing how long that timer is set for.” Smith took a firm grip on his lover’s arm and motioned for BA and Murdock to free their prisoners. Maddox was up on his feet in an instant, followed by the heavy Swede. Both looked terrified.  
As Smith started to herd them to the door, he hesitated glancing back at the limp shape of the black-hearted villain who’d caused so much distress. If he was alive, he couldn’t leave him to be blown up, much as he wanted to.  
“Maddox, you and Svenson cart your pal out of here...”  
“No,” yelled Maddox, his pasty face white with terror.   
“Do it, or stay with him,” snapped Smith. “Hurry up, time’s a’wastin’”  
Svenson ran over to his former partner and picked him up, slinging the body over his shoulder, then made for the door. He didn’t waste time in arguing, he wanted out of here.  
“Go BA,” said Smith, and with Murdock holding firmly to Peck’s other arm, the three comrades ran out into the corridor, following BA’s broad back to the front door and freedom.  
It was a frightening few minutes, as they had no idea of how much longer they had before the bomb exploded and each corridor seemed longer than the one they’d just raced down.   
BA was helping Svenson with Petersen’s body, with Maddox stumbling along behind them, Smith, Peck and Murdock hard on their heels.  
It was a measure of the rapport Face had with his friends that he never hesitated or stumbled, simply ran as fast as he could, trusting them to guide him. Swinging round corners, along straight lengths, he kept pace with them, the three running as one entity.  
As they reached the front door, they found it locked but BA simply blasted away at the lock and hinges with the guns he still carried and the door caved in under their metal onslaught.  
The six men ran out into the sweet morning air and fled down the gravelled drive for a good many yards before Smith stopped and turned towards the house. It was still standing.   
Smith frowned as he exchanged a look with Baracus.  
“Was he telling the truth?” he wondered aloud.  
His question was answered by a sheet of flame that tore off the roof of the old house and sent red flames shooting out of every shattered window.  
The blast, even at this distance, knocked them off their feet and they lay in the damp earth, hands over their ears, Hannibal lying protectively on top of his stunned lover, as the roar of the explosion dwindled away into the new day.  
A few minutes later they sat up, staring at each other, mentally checking that they were all alive, then Baracus got to his feet.   
“Hmm, guess Mr. Petersen’s clock was slow....”  
His comrades stared at him, even the blond lieutenant turning his face towards his big friend.  
“Slow...” Murdock spluttered, then got to his feet, roaring with laughter. Slapping the larger man on the shoulder, Murdock chortled. “Why B.A. I think you made a joke... almost.”  
Baracus grinned back at him, then bent forward giving his commander a hand up.   
Smith took it, slapping the brawny arm in wordless thanks, then leaned down for his lieutenant.  
“Come on Face, we’re going home.”  
Peck came to his feet, stumbling a little as reaction set in. “Are you sure, Hannibal?”  
The Colonel steadied him, arms going round him in a tight hug. “Oh yes, Templeton, this time I’m quite sure.”  
“No more detours? No more finishing things off?” insisted Peck, brushing the dirt out of his fringe, with an equally grubby hand.  
“No, nothing more,” promised Smith, smiling a little at the streaks of new dirt on his lover’s pale cheeks.  
“Good!” Peck tried for another glib retort, but suddenly he was so tired. “’Cos I’ve really had enough of this country life.”  
He sagged forward but Smith had him firmly and the lieutenant closed his eyes as the strong arms folded him to his Colonel’s broad chest. He could relax now, his friends were safe and so was he.  
BA and Murdock exchanged a smile, then turned to check on the prisoners. Maddox and Svenson were still lying on the ground, breathing hard. The black-clad shape of the madman who’d caused so much trouble lying a few yards away where it had been unceremoniously dropped.   
“I’ll get the van,” Hannibal said.  
Murdock nodded, watching as Smith started to lead his lieutenant in a wide circle around the fiercely burning building; he hoped their vehicle had escaped any major damage.  
There was no way to put out the fire and as they weren’t in any immediate danger and there was no property near by which might be damaged, they didn’t even bother to try and extinguish the flames.   
Maddox and the Swede were getting to their feet guarded by Baracus, so he went to check the wounded man. Much to his surprise found a faint pulse. He sat back on his heels and swore. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”  
BA walked over to him, “What’s up?”  
“He’s still alive.”  
B.A. cursed and it was so unlike him, Smith turned round to see what had made his sergeant swear like that.  
“Petersen’s still alive, colonel,” Baracus reported tersely.  
Smith's expression hardened, but didn't speak for the moment. He should’ve been surprised, but wasn’t; the man seemed to have nine more lives than a cat. Much as he wanted retribution for all the torment Petersen had put them through, Smith couldn’t kill him in cold blood.  
He sighed, rubbing his brow with his free hand. “At least we get to see him put in jail.” He continued on to the van hoping that the semiconscious man he was supporting, hadn’t heard this latest piece of news.  
Maddox sat up. “He’s still alive?” he asked incredulously.  
“Yep, ‘fraid so,” retorted Murdock, bending down to examine the wounded man more closely. “You’ll have to improve your aim next time.”  
He jumped back a little as the black eyes opened and glared up at him. “He won’t get the chance,” came the hate-filled whisper, before the lids closed again.

CONTINUED IN CHAPER FOUR

T.Roubles (c)


End file.
